The Garden of Eden: Lilith's Exile
by Ripsi
Summary: Who's going to give in? Will the line of right and wrong be darkened or erased? Can we expect to see the war ended or restarted? Who is our Claire really? ClairexWesker
1. Incubus

A/N: Well, here we are again for Part II! I want to thank everyone who has supported me and I just love you all. You may be wondering why this is under M, well this time around frustration is a killer so language is one of the "bad" things and it's gonna be darker than Part I so yeah. And MariFM, don't be surprised by the new character's name.

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, but I… you know… You _do _know right?

Incubus

Male demon or evil spirit that visits women in their sleep and lies with them in ghost-like sexual intercourse. The women won't awaken, just experience it in the dream. Should she get pregnant the child will grow into an evil person with bad intentions or a sorcerer. The legend of Merlin says that he was the result of an incubus and a nun's union. Incubi were believed to be fallen angels while the succubi (there was only one for a while) was believed to be Lilith. Lilith is our main concern.

One whole month since that day. Since the day Claire and Wesker made- had… Dream after dream after dream of Wesker made Claire's nights confusing. In a way she was glad to be able to see his face. Right now she was smiling, stretching her arms up over her head, glad that Wesker had turned into nothing more than a pleasant incubus.

The house was full of life and finally happiness. Billy and Rebecca were living there now, staying in a room together. Chris and Jill made up but weren't close enough to room together. Leon was secluded in his own little apartment, very weary of Claire. If Claire had learned anything it was that sticking together was the most important and rewarding thing she had to do. Leon had stepped out of their lives, only reentering it when it best suited him, but Claire had Sherry to think of.

"Claire!" Everything felt so normal, if normal meant every twenty-year-old woman's home had become a B&B.

"Chris I'm up!" Claire yelled back. Claire was so grateful for everything. Inside she knew they doubted each other, but the walls were breaking down. Wesker was over exaggerating, everything was okay. Seemingly.

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"Hey, where's _my_ toast?" whined Jill. Chris pointed to the toaster and pretended to roll his eyes. "So, Barry's in Switzerland… finally." Jill took a seat between Chris and Rebecca after getting her plate.

"God, I'm tired," said Rebecca.

"Maybe if you actually went to sleep at night…" Claire teased.

"Actually," started Chris, "_You_ kept us _all_ up." Claire gave a confused look, but Chris explained. "You were talking in your sleep all night. Laughing too." Claire's eyes went from left to right as if she could find the explanation on the table.

"I don't know," she said, unable to offer any explanation. Well, one that wouldn't make Chris' head explode. Playing dumb was better for them all.

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Damn her straight to hell. Claire Redfield had tricked him, and for once, "The Great Albert Wesker" didn't know what to do. She lied to him.

**_You_** believed her. Why?

Wesker stared at the unmade bed that Claire had slept in. So much of her was _still_ in this room. It was all so undisturbed. Claire Redfield. The feisty redhead would forever haunt him, so what to do?

_Didn't Alfred Kinsey say something like, "When something desired is prohibited, it becomes an obsession."_?

Yes, he did. Was it the same for her? Sitting on the bed he felt closer to her. But why did she matter to him?

_Because she lied_.

He desired revenge upon Chris, that was yet to be done. He desired to use Claire to hurt Chris, but apparently that wasn't happening. Chris needed to be here. Now. Wesker had to get that disk before Spencer did, otherwise _everyone_ would be dead.

If Chris was good then Wesker was evil, making Spencer good too because he wanted to get rid of Wesker. _That_ was not good for the world. Not good for Sherry.

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Today, there was no Leon, like so many other days. Claire's heart had seemed to have betrayed everyone she cared for. Life was a bit bleak. Wasn't Wesker coming for her? Did she want it? Need it?

"Albert Wesker," she said to herself, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan. The name even stood out. "Wesker." She realized she could lie there all night contemplating on how to give his name a more appealing sound. That was fine by her.

She'd dream of him anyway. Did he dream, and if so was it of her? Did his home feel empty without her? It wasn't long before sleep took over her. Darkness engulfed her, shadowing reality.

She could feel him, the feeling of his fingers tracing circles on her skin. How she wanted him, desperately, to the point it pained her. Ever since that day, Claire couldn't forget any part of his body. Her dreams kept that memory alive. Eyes of fire weren't full of hatred, but passion. Those eyes gave him the look of a snake.

"No Claire, I'm not the snake." Her brow furrowed and she sat up, and Wesker regrettably stopped touching her.

"Then who is?" Claire asked.

"Soon you'll know," he said, tucking her red hair behind her ears. "Friends don't always tell the truth."

"But you do?" He smiled, a sight Claire always feared, but yet somehow adored.

"I have no reason to lie about this."

"Other than to hurt me or my friends or brother?" Shushing her, he cupped her face in his hands, leaning in to kiss her. All she could think was how lucky she was to have a recurring character that looked like him -that didn't want to kill her- in her dreams.

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Someone was there, in the darkness. Leon could feel it. "Who's there?"

"Call me a ghost, or better yet, a sort of incarnation." Whoever she was, she turned on the lamp, and Leon saw that she was sitting in his chair in jeans, black boots, and a black T- shirt. Leon knew her. The woman everyone made a big fuss over, the woman in the picture, Monette.

"Spencer will you cut that out?" It was more of a demand.

"No Siento. I'm not Spencer." Leon laughed dryly and watched her walk to him. Spencer wasn't _that_ good.

"So he did it huh? You're this 'Perfect Copy' everyone's excited about."

"Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. Brains, what else is underneath?" Leon stopped her from lifting up his T-shirt. "It's ok, I'm not contagious. When'd a little T-Virus hurt you?

"God, is that why he made you huh?" Leon asked, looking quite disgusted. "To satisfy his sick needs as a man?"

"Maybe," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "I just like you." Leon pushed past her, taking a seat on his couch, staring at her. She was Monette to a T. Short in height, long blue-black hair, but her as a person…

"Monette didn't act like that according to everyone."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not her. Besides, she had a sordid past. Drugs, alcohol, pretty much _Robert Downey Junior's_ nightmare." Not able to smile at her, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "But you know why I'm here. The disk. _Papa_ Spencer wants it. And he's assigned me as your new partner." A sarcastic laugh escaped him, and the woman sat awfully close to him. "So tell that chink bitch that if she gets in my way… I'll kill her.

Shock replaced the confidence he had. How'd she know of Ada? Why did Spencer care about Ada?

"Are we clear? If she asks about me, you say, 'Oh Ada, you're seeing things.' Wesker already knows who I am, but if the bitch leaks it to S.T.A.R.S., you're in a hella trouble. Because she wants the disk, Spencer wants the disk, S.T.A.R.S. wants the disk, and Wesker too. So we're good?"

Leon nodded, not wanting to defy Spencer at all right now. Look what he made! "Just tell me you won't screw me over," he requested.

"I won't betray you," she soothed in a baby voice. "But when it comes to screw-"

"Okay, okay!"

"Come on. Since when did professional mean no-"

"I don't want to upset Spencer. He's a little messed up already-"

"A little?" Oh look, she did have a mind of her own. Leon watched her walk away and open the door, ready to leave him.

"So, Monette, I'll see you later?"

"Don't call me that. I'm not Monette."

"Then who are you?"

"Merely her shadow. You can call me Marisol."

A/N: There we go! Her name… I just said hmm, why not? I was thinking about my friend's ex who he says I remind him of and look like got mad whenever someone called her Mari so she'd do her little Mexican accent and would say, "My name's not Mari, I am… Marisol." It'd be funny if you could actually hear me say it. I like the name too. Plus, it starts with an m. Something tells me y'all are gonna hate Monette's clone. Well, review and I'll update!


	2. Transfiguration

A/N: Finally I'm updating. Aside from the fact that I've been plagued with writer's block I just got a fired a few days ago because my boss is a jealous idiot who can't get her stories straight when explaining to different people why I was fired. Is it my fault the guys who are supposed to be working come to my register to talk to me and hit on me? The customers too? NO! So I've been in a funk and wanting desperately to hurt someone. Right now I kinda miss being in karate after eight years and a black belt dude, I wanna hit the punching bag right now. Even if it played a huge role in my depression, that damn class was a rage outlet that let me kick boy's asses. So yeah, I'm jobless now, and so are 10 other people she just up and decided to fire, and she's next. A letter to the corporate office should do the trick, cause when I'm mad, I'm not only good with words, I'm persuasive.

Disclaimer: No, Capcom owns RE, not me.

Genesis 3; 1-5

The Fall of Man

-_Now the serpent was the most cunning of all the animals that the Lord God had made. The serpent asked the woman, "Did God really tell you not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?" The woman answered the serpent: "We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; it is only about the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden that God said, 'You shall not eat it or even touch it, lest you die.'" But the serpent said to the woman: "You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is bad."_-

Ada Wong, a woman of mystery. No one knew much about her. Not Leon, Wesker, but Spencer did. Spencer knew Ada well. Well enough to know that keeping her separate from Marisol -for now- was smart.

The catfight would be bloody. Who would win? Whoever wasn't human of course. Spencer could do anything he wanted. Be anything or anyone he wanted.

Marisol was proof enough. Spencer was like that man in the soap opera. The Italian guy that they dubbed, "The Phoenix," he never stayed dead. There are so many snakes in our story. Some worse than the others.

Leon was having a bad headache because of him. Why couldn't Spencer just change into Billy or Rebecca or somebody to get the disk himself. The old bastard did a lot of pointless things. 75 of things Umbrella were pointless. T, G, Nemesis all a waste of time and money. Leon was to pretend to be ok with Claire, just so everyone would let him back in the group.

Wesker would be back soon, back to get Claire. Oh great! Marisol was doing who knew what with who, Spencer was scheming, Wesker was pissed, and Ada had disappeared. Wait, the latter was good. How he missed Ada.

No stop! Ada was just as bad as Claire. Why was she so hard to let go? …Why the hell was Marisol in his shower? God, there was so much blood on her when she came.

"Marisol!" he yelled, banging on the bathroom door. After a few seconds she peeked her head out of the door. "What?" she asked, seeming annoyed. Had she forgotten this was his home?

"You need to go."

"I need to borrow some clothes."

"Clothes-" Leon out his hands on his hips and sighed.

"Your shirts reach my knees. Just a shirt."

"Fine." She was going to be trouble.

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Where was he? Leon was so distant from Claire now. Everything was awkward. Why was everyone so shaky about him?

_Friends don't' always tell the truth_.

Was Leon really the type to lie? That night when they were talking, Leon seemed a bit withdrawn. Brought to the conclusion that she couldn't trust him, Claire wanted to cry. Her eyes stung, but she couldn't let the tears drop. Maybe, hopefully, she was overreacting.

After all they'd been through, how could she question his motives how could she even question his motives as a friend? Of course he was mad. She slept with Wesker. SLEPT WITH WESKER. TWICE.

The annoying ring tone from her cell phone invaded her ears and Claire flipped it open, not even bothering to look at the number. "Hello?" Silence. Last time she got a call like this it was from… "Wesker."

"Hello, dear heart. How are you?" The deep voice was so comforting somehow. So stable and he knew how to use it.

"What do you want?" she asked shakily, fearing the answer, not him.

"It's time, dear heart." Claire looked down at her knees, a lump in her throat.

"Whe- when will you be here?"

"Soon. Have the disk ready. This time, the real one. And Claire?" Her heart stopped beating for a few seconds and she wanted to disappear. He'd called her Claire and made her feel like a little child. Get it together girl.

"Yes?"

"I've missed you dearest." Click. Frightening, yet she enjoyed hearing from him; now she knew he was on his way. Two, maybe three days. Better than not having a single clue as to when he'd return, it could be in three minutes.

Will he take her too? For Sherry, she'd go. Then it happened, Claire's door opened, and a tired looking Leon ran in.

"Claire run! Chris gave the disk to a friend and Wesker's pissed." There was a commotion downstairs and Claire look to her window.

_You wanted this right_?

"Go!" yelled Leon. Claire ran to her window and opened it.

"Leon, I'm sor-"

"Hey, it's not all your fault. Get to my apartment. The keys are still in my car." She nodded and went out the window, climbing down the ladder. As soon as her feet touched the ground she ran. Not to Leon's car. Waiting on the side of the house, she hoped Wesker would hurry.

"Well, well, well, Little Red is lost eh?" Looking to her left, she saw what could only be described as a ghost.

"Monette? No, Spencer."

"You wish. I suggest you come with me if you want to se Sherry again." Sherry. Claire watched as the woman walked away, but had no choice, so she ran after her. "Hurry up!" They ran into the woods behind her house and Claire couldn't see a damned thing.

Thankfully, the woman grabbed her wrist and guided her through the darkness. It must have been half and hour before they reached the freeway and a black sports car. Damn, Claire lungs were burning. After ten minutes of riding and looking behind them, Claire relaxed.

"Ok, who are you lady?" Claire didn't know her, so of course she would speak to her anyway she wished.

"I'll give you a tip: I'm not Spencer, and I'm not Monette. I am an incomplete being."

"So, you're a… Oh my God."

"You're too selfless," she commented. "You're giving yourself to Spencer for a little who could be dead. You're nuts.

"I'm human." Stupid. In a flash, Claire felt the blade of a knife to her neck

"I will have no remorse over killing you and not looking. Personally, I don't give a fig's ass if you live or die. Hell, Chris won't know. We could clone you too. Do you want to live?"

"Yes."

"Then I suggest you keep your pretty, little pink lips together when it comes to the abomination called my life." Wow, what a temper. Not wanting to enrage her again, Claire kept quite until they reached -oh great- another fricking mansion. This was getting so old so fast, which mean the situation's sad when it's monotonous to the captive.

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A few threats, a few precautions, and Claire was thrown into what looked like a lounge. Once again, she was underground, her cell phone didn't work and she was pissed off. Where was Sherry? Another thing that was getting to her was how Marisol stretched the importance of Claire not breathing a word of her existence to Wesker. The trigger-happy loon did remember to threaten Sherry's life though.

Wesker had to come for her. Wait… wasn't her hero Chris?"

_Not when Spencer's involved_.

Why was she in this damn mess? Impossible things that fictitious movies couldn't even explain happened to her and her friends: Zombies! Superhuman bosses whose true mission is to kill his team and let's not forget all the mad scientists. Oh yeah, and the tip of the iceberg: Clones. Why couldn't she just be in a coma, dreaming all of this up?

A blaring alarm shook Claire out of her woe-is-me-my-life-sucks mood. Alarms were bad, and she'd _just_ gotten there. Groaning, she stood up, her arms out as she slowly spun around as she looked at the ceiling as if asking why her life was a bad soap opera.

"Security breach on ground level. Security breach on ground level." The computerized voice was well hated by Claire. Did the same woman donate her voice to every alarm company in the world? "Security breach on level one." At that moment, Claire knew who it was. It was Wesker, and he'd turned into an angel in Claire's eyes.

A/N: I gotta get to the other chapter, so review and I'll get to updating.


	3. Savior

A/N: So sorry for the delay again. I was going to update earlier today, but then it started storming. If you have been curious enough to check out the Louisiana weather then I hate to tell y'all that there hasn't really been a day without a storm. I don't get on the computer when it storms, and my brother or papa are the ones on it when it isn't storming. It's sad really. I haven't exactly gotten over my writer's block. Where has my passion gone?

Disclaimer: I don't own RE… it would be nice though wouldn't it?

_savior or saviour, n.- 1. A person who saves, rescues or delivers: the savior of the country. 2. (cap.) a title of God, esp. of Jesus_. 

After about a minute, the computer informed Claire that Wesker had gotten to Level 2. Maybe he'd find Sherry. The confusing bits of happiness she was feeling though had disappeared as Marisol charged right on in.

"Time to run princess," she said, pulling Claire up from the comfortable couch. Frowning, Claire tried to resist, but Marisol didn't even feel a hint of the redhead's resistance. The computer announced that Wesker was a level closer, "How lovely." Suddenly, Marisol surprised Claire by digging into her pocket.Shocked, Claire grimaced at the shadow of Monette and soon understood what was happening when Marisol examined her cell phone. "Well, well, well, Wesker tracked you with your phone. How genius, how impossibly effective." Claire snatched her phone back and shoved it into her pocket, a defiant look on her face. Marisol had been so busy threatening Claire, that she'd forgotten to pat her down. The black haired woman only grinned. 

"Oh Claire, don't worry," started Marisol, pausing to hear the computer announce Wesker's arrival on floor four, "It's best you do go back with Wesker hon. If he sees me now then it ruins the plans. So be good and keep your mouth shut about me." She'd maintained a smile the whole time and it scared Claire. She didn't even want to fathom what they could do to Sherry. Marisol led Claire to an elevator after turning many corners . Wesker was on Level 5 and a few minutes away from them.

Claire's main feeling right now was not falling as Marisol dragged her along. Practically slinging Claire to the elevator door, Marisol looked impatient. She left her with a smirk before dashing off. Ding. The elevator opened, and there, right before here blue eyes, stood Wesker.

It took all of the strength she had not to embrace him. It felt so good to see a familiar face, even if it was Wesker. Not saying a word, Claire got in the elevator, fighting off a smile.

"Have you found Sherry?" she asked. Even if they were talking, it was still awkward.

"She isn't here," he informed her. After reaching the top, they walked to the front door, seeing the bodies Wesker had left behind. As she stood by the door to the passenger's seat, Wesker stared at her.

"What's wrong?" Right now, Wesker looked hesitant, as if he was about to make a hard decision. Instead of saying what was on his mind, Wesker got in the car and allowed Claire to do the same. The truth was that he had no use for Claire and had intended on telling her so. For some unknown reason though, he just couldn't.

They rode in silence, not even glancing at each other. About ten minutes later though, Claire had to say something. Even though she couldn't trust his answer to be true, she needed something as an explanation.

"You were gonna leave me weren't you? Just gonna let Chris come and pick me up?" She was actually looking at him, hoping she was wrong, but hope was just another word for desperate when it came to Wesker.

"Ms. Redfield, your brother doesn't have what I need. Kidnapping you would serve no purpose whatsoever."

"Okay, yeah, but someone's after me, and not just any someone, but Spencer. Why?" The look on Claire's face was of pure determination. Wesker didn't answer. He wouldn't.

There was no way he could say, "Because Spencer knows you mean _something_ to me." Because that was the truth that could never be known to her or anyone. No, our Albert Wesker wasn't growing soft, but this was only a pattern. His obsession with the woman that became his wife was the second instance that his emotions had gotten the best of him.

The woman he called "Mother," was the first woman he was attached to. Of course, one could say he was only accustomed to her presence, but his mind was complicated. Claire couldn't- no, _didn't_ want to even imagine Wesker wanted her. When Wesker wanted something, he was like an addict. She just had no idea.

"Where are we going? The mansion?" Claire's question was answered with a nod. When they pulled up into the driveway nine hours later, Claire felt a bit tired. Wesker had driven her there, not even bothering to wake her up at the gas station to offer her something to eat, and the seat wasn't exactly a comfortable bed. Stepping back into the house was a moment she'd always remember. Last time she was here it was overly intense.

Okay, now was not the time for that. Who wanted to recall having sex with him? Wait… stupid question. Well, those who knew him up close and personal would not wish to think of such a thing. What was she to do?

Should she go to her room and question everything about her and Wesker? No, she should talk with him about Sherry and how to get her back. Hopefully, talking was all he wanted.

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"Chris Redfield. Summery of his life: out of ideas, almost out of tequila, and out of cigarettes." Jill watched her friend mumble this to himself. Right now, she questioned everything about him. The man she cared for, envied, loved, and hated. He made her world go 'round, but he'd lost it along the way somewhere.

It used to be that he'd give anything for her and she for him, but life changed. Inside, she blamed Claire. Jill and Chris were supposed to be lying in bed now, holding each other, and not having a care in the world. God, why was Claire so stupid? Demanding little brat! At first, she stuck up for her, but now she was just annoying.

"Hey, Jill," called Chris, staring at her stupidly, "Bet I'd kick your ass at basketball!" Shaking her head, Jill looked away. Was Claire happy? Her brother was drunk and out of his mind. Billy sighed, throwing down a piece of the broken coffee table into a pile of debris from the Wesker's little visit.

"This thing's done," he said. For a second, Jill forgot he was there. His presence made her remember that Rebecca was trying to hack into something. Who knew? Who cared?

Damn, did anything they do matter anymore? They could _give_ Wesker the disk, but it would do what? He would still want Chris; ergo, Claire would be kidnapped… AGAIN.

"What's wrong Jilly?" slurred Chris, who had just come to sit by her. She wanted to yell, kick, scream, bitch, and moan about every stupid thing. Where was the Chris she fell for? The hero she admired? How could they ignore him when he was like that?

Was this it? The great Chris Redfield was going to be a drunk? It couldn't end like this.


	4. Seed

A/N: Once again I am back. I fear the response to chapters four, five, and maybe even six. For the first time in a month and a half I have had one of my episodes brought on by depression and I've realized why I don't feel I've been doing as well as I do when I turn in an amazing story in English. Because without my depression my stories don't bring that much to the table. I've been fighting it and strangely, the anti-depressants I stopped taking had me stable for a while. Maybe now that the effects have worn off I can get back to the deepness of what my writings used to be like. Also I might need to stop reading Sweep because that style of writing isn't exactly extraordinary and I'm impressionable. Looks like I have to go out and buy some deep, dark depressing book.

Disclaimer: Nope… RE still ain't mine.

How he hated this. Leon despised tricking the ones he knew and loved. Every five minutes Spencer was changing his mind. This next mission was tricky. Poor Rebecca.

The command issued was to _kidnap_ Rebecca. Just great. Well, Marisol was doing the actual kidnapping, but…

"I can't do it. God, I just can't-"

"_¡Oye!_" Marisol was vexed beyond words. Leon worked for Umbrella -King Company of Deceit- but he couldn't kidnap his friend. He'd be there though, so he would know that she was fine.

"She-she trusted me-"

"_¡Mira!_"

"No! You… mira! She's pregnant!"

"Whoa…" said an awestruck Marisol. Biting her bottom lip, she sat back against the seat, staring at the dashboard. "She's got some bad timing." The comment earned her a confused stare from Leon. "Come on Leon. You plant the seed of doubt in their heads, I'll just nurture it and let it grow. If I get everyone to turn on Chris, Spencer wins; you're free. At least one of us will be."

For a moment, Leon almost felt sorry for her. She couldn't start a life; her model was dead. Monette couldn't appear all of the sudden again. They had the same blood, same fingerprints, and even the same scars. Obviously, the same mental problems too.

Fine, he'd kidnap Rebecca, the girl who trusted him with her secret. Way to go Leon, he'd become worse than a certain Chinese-American spy. Worse than even… Claire.

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"We have to save Sherry!" Claire had been chasing Wesker around the mansion since they'd woken up that morning. He was refusing to speak of Sherry, like something scared him. "Did you hear me? Do you care? We can get her back!"

"Yes, loud and clear for the last ten hours, very much, and how do you propose we do that Ms. Redfield?" Looking like she was considering his question, Claire gave him the time he needed to get to his bedroom, but she was there soon. Heart aching, she stepped up to him, his eyes on the picture on his desk. Sherry waved back at him, frozen forever. Why couldn't this be her?

Why couldn't the people he cared about stay put and be safe? Monette was dead, Sherry was gone, Birkin was dead, and Claire was always… Claire shouldn't be on that list.

"Wesker?" Claire's voice was small and sympathetic. Rubbing her arms, she looked at her surroundings. What could she say about this room? What couldn't she say?

Blue eyes so full of emotion looked back to Wesker. She could feel his eyes on her, but interpret his feeling at the moment. Slowly, he stood and walked to her, his body language hesitant. Now, she stood chest to chest with him, fear her main emotion. Even though he wanted to, he didn't touch her- he couldn't, seeing as it would only be for his needs as a man.

"Just go to your room," he said, but he didn't sound annoyed or tired of her. More like he was in dread.

"Not until we come up with a way to save Sherry." Now was not the time to be a rebel who stood for rights and moral. Claire was worried about the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"Go."

"No!" By the time Wesker had his hand back, readying to slap her, she was on her tip toes. Somehow, she managed to kiss him though before he went through with it, but he pushed her away. Completely unforeseen, surprising. Who knew such a thing would happen?

Tears were building in Claire's eyes and she didn't give a damn if he saw it. Neither knew what to say. Nothing could really even be said. Wesker though, being the man of pointless words that he was found something to say.

"Using me is not smart." His voice was low, but Claire was confused.

"Use you? For what?"

"Tell me you want me Claire." This was no command, but a test. Last time she used him and it got her nowhere. All she got was a broken heart and pain.

So, was she smart or not? Would this be a big mistake? Part of her said not to trust him or herself. Her mind was saying to tell him yes. Too bad she as being stupid nowadays.

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Instead of staying, Claire had gone to her room, leaving Wesker with his thoughts. Letting out a sigh, he sat on his bed, feeling tired. Who would have thought they'd have seen the day of his exhaustion. Exhaustion… He'd have forever to rest.

Eventually Claire would die, his sister, his brother, his enemies. He felt like a grandfather-to-be. Just him and Sherry for the many, many, many, many years to come. This of course didn't bother him. Power meant sacrifice.

If something happened to him though, what would happen to his projects? He was almost forty and childless. He'd buried his wife and mourned the death of two infants and a few unborn children. But, he couldn't impregnate anyone. They had to carry the T- Virus strain for that to be possible.

But who to use? Someone really smart, beautiful, and won't go all woman-power-I'm-gonna-fight-you-for-custody. It was time for Wesker to successfully bring life into the world.

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Leon sat in the car at a red light, gripping the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles were white. "Step on it Kennedy, nobody's here!" yelled Marisol form the backseat, stroking the unconscious Rebecca's hair. Leon sped off, wanting to understand how she got Rebecca to fall for that lame story. Well, he made the call, telling Rebecca to come to his apartment… alone… late at night. Once inside, Marisol said to hell with orthodox and settled for hitting Rebecca upside the head.

"Kennedy, I wish you could feel this," said a smiling Marisol.

"Not on the second date," he said smartly.

"No… Her baby."

"It's not even alive yet."

"Define alive. It's growing every second. Acting as a parasite right now, but eventually it'll be something more. I can feel it." Glancing in the rearview mirror, Leon saw his partner caressing Rebecca's abdomen, looking both amazed and sad. It felt strange to Leon that she behaved this way. It was only a few cells, just an embryo.

"Why don't you just have a kid?" asked a frowning Leon.

"Spencer… won't let me. The kid would be somewhat human and he doesn't want his heir to be like that.

"His _heir_?" Leon almost stomped on the brakes. She and Spencer? Spencer and she? "You and Spencer are-"

"Don't make me relive that. Don't." Oh great. A mentally unbalanced woman who was a victim of something in a way considered rape who was also the copy of a woman with a bad history and an evil husband. He couldn't see her lying down for any man. Not even Spencer.

A man who could be considered her father did this. A man who was just disgusting altogether. "I'm sorry," Leon almost whispered. Glancing at her, he saw her give a sad smile. Oh damn, he forgot Rebecca was back there.

Hopefully she wasn't aware of anything at all. If she even heard him, everything would be over and rather than everyone hating Chris, they would hate him. He would be shunned and Billy would actually live up to his reputation of a merciless murderer.

A/N: Alright, now y'all just review and I'll do what I do and update. You can expect one tonight or tomorrow. Oh, and check out a new fic of mine. I'm supposed to get up and type it today. It's called "Insanity of Umbrella," and it starts off on Rockfort. It's Claire/Steve and Wesker/OC, but it's not really gonna focus on romance. It's actually about… the title says it all. So it'll be about how crazy Alfred and Alexia are, and even Wesker. I don't know why I like focusing on the villains. Oh yeah, the heroes are clichéd and predictable. Expect it to be dark and funny when Alfred shrieks like a little girl. Oh, and if you're wondering why Leon is playing such an important role then I'll tell you. Leon has to play a huge part to settle his debt and I haven't really focused on that. Without Leon a lot of the main things would make no sense whatsoever. So stay tuned. Love y'all!


	5. Breakaway

A/N: Here I am, updating already. You know the world's ending now. Even though I didn't go to sleep at all last night and was watching Roseanne from 10 PM-6 AM I managed to do my daily yoga. Right now I'm staying up on meat pies and chocolate and feel like I did that time I… yeah… I obviously need sleep. Oh, and a friendly tip: Never meditate and fall asleep while it's thundering… I dreamed Tyrant from RECVX kept killing me and I was an ass and kept ramming into him while on a ledge… and kept falling… or being impaled. Then there was the dream about Britain and a café shop… and instead of British guys they were American… then my friends were hiding from the French police because they were beating them up… then there was something about a semi-gay guy… Yeah… I'm just praying I type what I wrote on this paper and not the stray words that flow through my mind. I gotta get around to putting up that new fic too.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, and I doubt the Japanese will ever let Americans take Resident Evil into their own hands again. Two words for you: Milla Jovovich.

In his arms, in his bed, in his heart. That's where his Monette is- _was_. Waking up was such a huge betrayal of his body. Who saw Albert Wesker as a man with a life? No one.

Now, Chris was his life. Revenge was everything to him. His life centered around a company that was going to betray him, a company that had fallen from tremendous heights. Reestablishing a new foundation would be such hell, but he'd been through hell. He could do it all now.

Memories flashed through his mind, reminding him of his sacrifices. He saw Monette tending to him, their wedding, their honeymoon, the disgusting and insulting checks from a vengeful Spencer, his wife in the hospital mourning their twins. Finding her in a closet hiding from burglars was too painful, all those failed pregnancies by stress he caused, he saw her with razor blades to her wrists, and he remembered coming home to find empty prescription medicine bottles lying about and emptied of their contents. Then he remembered the day he died, his rebirth, and then his wife was gone along with another child. Before he replayed her death in his head he shook it away.

This had to end; she wouldn't want him dwelling on the past like this. It was time to revert to the Wesker everyone knew and detested. First thing was first: he had to get rid of Claire or get her back in line.

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The peaceful sleep Claire was having was interrupted by someone barging through her door. Jumping up, heart hammering against her sternum, she saw Wesker standing in front of her bed. Too rattled, she didn't notice the menacing look on his face. He looked evil, the way he used to look. Oh no.

"Ms. Redfield," he said, his sarcastic smile taunting, "I'm sorry to tell you that this little game is over. It's time to get back on track. Since I no longer need your brother, I can kill him. You see, he has very few friends and well, finding whoever has the disk will be quite easy. It _has_ been fun though I must admit."

"What do you mean?" Her question came out a whisper and upon appearance it would seem that she was trying to melt into the headboard.

"Oh, no worries dear heart, I won't strip you of your luxuries, but I must put you on a tighter leash." Was this how he dealt with rejection? As he neared her, he appeared not to hear her calling his name.

"Wesker? What are you doing? What's going on?"

"You've seemingly forgotten who runs this house in only a day," he said, sitting beside her. Claire had gone from confused to annoyed to afraid in such a short amount of time. Wesker knew she was afraid and that's why he only stared at her with a mischievous grin on his face. It disappeared though when Claire herself began to grin

"You are pathetic, Wesker," she said with a sigh.

"Oh?" Eyebrow raised, he moved closer to her.

"Yes. You see, you've got too much going on. You wanna do it all as fast as possible. You wanna kill my brother and out friends, you wanna save Sherry, and you wanna get the disk. Oh yeah, and get back at Spencer. You may be strong, but you're no superman. You've even almost hit the big 4-0 childless and a widower."

The sound of the back of Wesker's hand connecting with Claire's cheek would cause one to gasp. Holding her cheek, she glared at him, loathing the only thing in her eyes. "I hope you rot in hell," she spat, only causing him to grin again. She was growing very tired of his mood swings. He was like a teenage girl.

Suddenly, he grabbed her face with both hands and leaned in to whisper. "If that is my fate, I expect for you to be right alongside me."

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This was horrible. Leon sat in an office on a couch next to Marisol who was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell was taking Spencer so long? God, it was a quarter to 1:00PM. He wasn't tired or anything, even though he was up all night last night, but this was boring.

"Leon! Marisol!" Five minutes of daydreaming and boredom rewarded them with the man that they were here for. He came out a door to their left and took a seat behind his desk. His young look was a relief from the old, grumpy tyrannical look he once had. Marisol only continued staring at the ceiling and this seemed to irritate their boss a bit.

"Marisol?" groaned Leon. It was obvious that Spencer wouldn't start until she at least looked his way.

"I'm listening intently," she assured him, frowning at a spider on the ceiling. At least she was paying attention, so Spencer shrugged it off.

"Thank you for bringing her here. She knows a bit of Marcus and-"

"Wait, wait, wait a minute," Leon interrupted, holding up both hands. "This was because she saw your dirty, little secret? Hell, why didn't we just kidnap 'em all?" He heard Marisol give a scoff and she finally tore her eyes away from the ceiling.

"_Mon cher_, _mi cielo_, _you _drove the getaway car. _I _is the only _we_ that did the actual kidnapping," she corrected him.

"Well, I'm ever so sorry for the mistake ma'am," said Leon, mimicking her southern accent. Even though it was only slight, Leon stressed every difference in the way he normally spoke.

"How about I cut you fucking tongue out?" Before she could pull out her knife, Spencer was yelling for her to calm down. Obediently, she sat down and crossed her legs.

"Now," started Spencer, clearing his throat, "She has the education needed to crack the code." Leon rubbed the bridge of his nose, knowing that Spencer meant Sherry. This was ridiculous and it was killing him to know that the girl was within reach and yet she was unattainable.

"Kinda wishing you didn't kill Edward now, huh?" Marisol's question earned her a cold stare from Spencer and Leon knew something was obviously wrong. She was breaking away from him, trying to be her own person, and Spencer didn't like that at all.

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Claire couldn't and wouldn't leave her room. Wesker was being difficult. All she could think of was Sherry, poor kid. That thought only led to memories of Steve Burnside, the headstrong kid that had won her heart. Sadly, by the time he's said that he loved her, he was leaving her along in that hellhole.

Wanting to be held, she grabbed her pillow and squeezed tight. If Steve were still alive- if she'd protected him from Alexia, then she wouldn't be there. That kid would have given his last breath for her.

__

He did.

Well, she didn't matter now anyway. Soon, she'd be a nobody survived by nobody. Sighing, she pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and threw it somewhere on the floor. People always told her she looked good with her hair down. They said it made her look cute.

"Screw cute," she mumbled to herself before ruffling her hair a bit. That was better. Her women's intuition practically screamed, "Finally! You're a biker for Christ's sake!" Claire had to toughen up and fight to save her brother's life, even if it meant sacrificing her own.

A/N: If there are errors I blame it on my lack of sleep. I had to read most of it out loud to stay awake. It was bad enough that I spelled almost everything wrong. Thank God for Word Processor. I also just found out I've been pronouncing mischievous wrong. No wonder why my freshman year Mr. Spivey asked me did I speak English. No, that was actually because I wasn't speaking English at that moment. Well, review… I'm going to bed.


	6. Babylon

A/N: I know what y'all are thinking. Y'all are probably thinking that I've been updating too quick and will therefore leave y'all hanging for a week or two after this. Well, you might be right because I'm still working on Chapter 7. I promise I'll get to it though. I need to wrap this fic up and get around to others. That doesn't mean I'm cutting it short, just be looking out for updates a lot sooner than I would normally update. Well, here it is! Oh yeah, Claire's gonna have a bit of an attitude seeing as neither I or Claire like Ada.

Disclaimer: Resident Evil isn't mine, although it would be if I were a Japanese genius. God I love Japanese people, why aren't we that good?

Revelation: 18;2-3

The Fall of Babylon

"_Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great. She has become a haunt for demons. She is a cage for every unclean spirit, a cage for every unclean bird, a cage for every unclean and disgusting beast. For all the nations have drunk the wine of her licentious passion. The kings of the earth had intercourse with her, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from her drive of luxury._"

One could almost hear a female revolutionary song playing as Ada walked into the dining room of Wesker's home. Claire locked eyes with the Asian woman, and the redhead gave a sarcastic smile. Claire repressed the urge to say something smart. Chris was right, she watched too many vulgar cartoons. Since Ada was there, there was no doubt that Wesker would be rounding the corner very soon.

"Where's Wesker?" Ada's voice was demanding, but Claire only popped a grape into her mouth and audibly bit into it.

"He's upstairs."

"Well, well, well, don't you look different?" Pulling up a chair, Ada tried to clear her face of any emotions, but Claire saw fear. Fear that Claire's new look threatened her. As if she'd picked up habits from Wesker, Claire wore all black and she had her hair down, giving her the look she needed for so long to match her attitude. Besides, this was how she was when she was in college.

"Yeah, I figured, 'So what if I'm vulnerable, I'm still Claire Redfield?'" Ada's eyes were still in her head much to her own surprise. What the hell was Wesker doing to Claire? At that question, she remembered something.

Grinning, she asked, "So that's how Wesker makes a girl feel?" Seeing Claire pick up a knife from the table and examine it made Ada's grin fade.

"You know Ada, you remind me of Babylon," said Claire looking fascinated with the knife. "You both have something in common: Both of you are referred to as destructive whore who everyone's been with and wants to see fall." Ada narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists. How dare she say such a thing? "Oh, and no Leon jokes or else… Well, you've seen that Springer show right?"

Brown eyes met blue eyes and Claire smirked. Ada opened her mouth to day something, but Wesker came through the doors smiling.

"Ms Wong, I hope Claire was good company." He pulled up a chair at the end of the table and looked at her as if saying, "A response, please."

"Yes," answered the older woman through clenched teeth. "We must do that again. How I adore seeing people from my past."

"Funny," said a smiling Claire, "I don't recall being a hooker." Ada only swallowed and turned to Wesker.

"Quite the kidder isn't she?" Ada had managed to unclench her teeth and tried to give a smile, but failed miserably. After this, she was definitely going to get rid of Claire.

"Now, Ms. Wong, I need you to-"

"Um…" Ada interrupted Wesker, but it was pointless, for he only shrugged. It was quite obvious that he didn't care that Claire was sitting right there. What was going on?

"Now," continued Wesker, "What I need is for you to bring back a few samples of T from the labs." Ada raised an eyebrow.

"You can do that yourself," she replied, but Wesker's mood changed visibly. Her insubordination would no doubt cost her.

"I don't intend on going that far and leaving Ms. Redfield alone. Nor do I want to deal with dragging her along, so I suggest that you do as I say." His deep voice almost sounded like a growl. This was unbelievable to Ada; never had Wesker snapped at her. With a nod, she left, not wanting to provoke him any further. Something had him preoccupied, and whatever it was, the Organization obviously knew nothing of it.

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The sound was annoying, whatever it was. Leon couldn't believe that he was still at this damned facility. Did he dare open the door? Not making a creak, he peaked inside the office to Marisol with a guy named Jerry, who he'd become familiar with. It didn't take Leon long to understand why there was a banging noise against the walls now.

Feeling as though he had invaded their privacy -which he had- he left, fearing to eve breathe. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Spencer would kill her. Of course, nothing stayed dead when Umbrella was involved. This place was madness.

Adults had to sneak around for a bit of freedom, scientists got their kicks out of torturing people, and Spencer was becoming a bigger problem than he was at first. Leon could feel his sanity slipping away. He was wasting away here working for Spencer day after day. Only his hopes of seeing Sherry again kept him sane and alive. Claire was lost to him.

Ada didn't even seem worth anything anymore. Leon Scott Kennedy once stood tall and strong, but now he'd been reduced to nothing. Nothing was worth any amount he'd once give. He didn't even know what they were doing to Sherry, the only pure person left in his life. God, what were they even doing to him?

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Pain, agony, regret. Claire sobbed on the floor of her room, but not loud enough for Wesker to hear. What was happening to her? Whatever was taking over her, she felt it. It was flowing through her veins, attacking everything inside of her.

"Goddammit!" she screamed, writhing on the floor, grabbing at the carpet. A few seconds later, a calm but concerned looking Wesker walked in, staring at her as if he didn't know what she was. "Help me!"

"Calm down," he replied calmly. Slowly, he leaned down to her and held her down. "You're alright," he soothed as she felt the pain dissipate. Exhausted, she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. "Go to sleep."

------------------------------------------------Five Hours Later-------------------------------------------------

No matter how hard it was, Claire opened her heavy eyelids. Never had she been so tired her whole life. There was a tingling in her abdomen, a n annoying feeling. Turing onto her side, she saw Wesker in a chair, reading something in a manila folder. 

"Whatever Birkin gave to me, I never questioned it," Wesker said, suddenly. "I never asked if it was communicable. It didn't cross my mind."

"What are you babbling about?" groaned the redhead.

"You might be infected." Claire's heart was beating in her ears, it became hard to hear, to breathe, and even see. Hearing "infected" was like hearing that she had AIDS or Huntington's Disease. What could make her smile now? When someone is in her position, what can help?

If she was infected with something, she wanted to die. "Infected with what?" she managed to ask. Wesker looked thoughtful and even a but afraid. Whatever he was reluctant to say, Claire needed to hear it. She didn't _want_ to hear it. Inside though, she knew her health was seriously at risk.

A/N: Ooh, what's wrong with our dear Claire. And next chapter -possibly up tomorrow evening- Leon makes a shocking discovery.


	7. Nobody Anymore

A/N: My apologies for my absence. God, I can't keep disappearing like this. But tragedy has befallen more than once while I've been… not writing _this_. So, the first bad thing went like this: My mom and her brother had just brought the dog house from our other house and they'd just seen my happy-go-lucky mutt. As I do in the evening, seeing as he was anorexic and sometimes didn't eat, I went to feed my dog. Normally when he hears the wind chime on the glass doors he runs to try and get into the house, but Jr. didn't come. He was nowhere in sight. I panicked. I thought I saw blood on the patio, after asking my dad if it was in fact blood he confirmed that it was. I followed the trail of blood around the yard, around my brother's garden and to the other side of the house. I get there and I see my dog lying on his stomach under the bush. He'd coughed up so much blood and he was one of the wild dogs my aunt had at her home in the country so he had no shots and all of those dogs are kinda born with worms. He pretty much died like his dad did at our old house, except his dad started fights with my lab and he lost. That was probably the hardest I've taken a dog's death out of the hundred something pets I had in the country. He was at least eight or nine. Second thing: My Popee died Friday night. If you don't know what Popee is, in my language it means Grandpa. He was on my dad's side and my dad, his brother, and Momee (Grandma) took it very hard. All over Louisiana we're known so the whole state is pretty much like, "Sorry about Brazil's death." Out of all the deaths in my family, this is the hardest. I was his favorite granddaughter and I wanted to make him proud by him seeing me be where I wanna be. My Momee found him Saturday morning on his knees. Everybody had seen him and talked to him and he seemed fine, but no one believed him when he was saying, "I don't have much longer to live." At least he was drunk when it happened. That whisky? I think we finished that off Saturday. Sad fact is that I hadn't seen my dog all day that day and I hadn't seen my Popee since his birthday, Mother's Day. So am I a bad person? It just hurts. So, here's the chapter, the last part of it will be made up as I go along since I never wrote it out. So, I just wanna say, "Te quiero Popee. Et que Dieu vous bénisse."

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this fic and Marisol.

Not being able to do what you want to is tough. At the time though, Leon didn't care how hard things were on Marisol. He'd just found out some devastating news: She was contagious. Now running, he made his way to her room and pounded on her door. After banging louder, he heard her footsteps.

As soon as the door opened it closed; Leon shoved Marisol inside and locked the door behind him. "Eh, what the hell?" she asked angrily. A look of concern appeared on her face as she saw the urgency on Leon's.

"You gotta stop your affair with Jerry-" he started, but was cut off.

"What the hell are you talking about? Calm down!"

"Don't play dumb! Tell Jerry to get to get to the labs and-"

"I don't know what you're-"

"You're contagious!" Leon's hard breathing was the only thing heard as Marisol nervously tightened the rope of her robe.

"We don't bite. I don't get down like that-"

"No. But like an STD, you know T spreads any way it can: blood, bodily fluids…"

"Even though this is none of your business, he wouldn't go without protection, and we're over. Oh and Leon?" Walking over to the door, she held it open for him, looking quite hurt. "Mind your own damn business." Once outside the hall, Leon though of Claire. He was losing everything after all. This was all because of Umbrella.

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Wesker at beside Claire all night, watching over her. Oh wait, the professional word would be "monitoring" her, seeing as he really didn't give a damn about her. Her back was to him while she laid there, curled up in a ball. He hadn't answered her question, but only because she knew. Learning that he probably infected her with his virus was one of the worst things she could ever hear.

What next? The sound of him flipping pages in the folder brought her back from her thoughts. Even though he wasn't watching her, it still felt uncomfortable. One of the strangest and worst feelings she was having though was hurt,. At home, with her friends they would care about something like this happening.

Someone would embrace her, tell her it was alright. Wesker only gave his few, mildly comforting words to shut her up. At the sound of him sighing, Claire rolled over, taking in everything about him.

_Coward_.

Of course he was a coward. He feared death. Wait, that was both true and not; he gave up his life so he could be… dead? Ok, she was only worsening her headache. Everything was fogged.

"Why did you do it?" Her voice was like that of an inquisitive child's. Closing the folder, Wesker looked up at her and crossed his legs.

"When the people that you dedicated your life to turn on you, what more can you do? Take it, or fight?" Even though she wouldn't admit it, she agreed. Die or… die, but be able to take revenge. He would get the best kind of revenge: taking over the company that tried to get rid of him.

"Am I infected?" It just came out of her mouth. She knew the answer wasn't, "Maybe," it was, "Yes." If she wasn't then why did she feel such pain?

"Yes, but you aren't like me. For that to happen, you would have to die."

_Oh, that's right_.

Hope brought tears to her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. Her head was already pounding from her waterworks earlier. Even though she wasn't like him, she was still infected to a certain point. All it took was her death. If humans didn't already worry about death before then she was going to have it bad. She would have to train her shadow to watch her back.

How did Wesker and Marisol live with themselves. Well, they didn't actually live, but now was no time for that. How did they endure the hard fact that they were dead. They were without beating hearts and yet they had cheated God. Even though they didn't behave like it, they both still had their souls.

Wesker would never be Wesker. He would never be alive, he would never be loved, he would never be able to lie down and just be at complete and total ease with himself. Marisol could never have a life. Monette was dead, so her popping back up would be quite frankly an amazing thing, but with that being an impossibility she people would know the truth. The American Government would certainly want to get their hands on the first successful clone.

Claire though, even now, was just Claire Redfield. Still a human of no importance. Still a little nobody to the people that claimed to care for her and still a nobody to him. To Albert Wesker.

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While Claire slept, Wesker thought. He had walked around his yard so many times he was begging to feel lost. His wife was dead, Claire was being the regular nuisance that she always was, and for the first time ever he was admitting to himself that he was going to fail. Suddenly, he heard rustling in the grass and turned to see the illusion that had driven him mad for years: his wife. "Spencer?" he asked before acting.

"No," the woman answered, slowly closing the space between them. "I'm not Spencer and I'm no apparition."

"No." Before she said anything else, Wesker knew who and what she was. Her existence was merely a way for Spencer to rub the proof of his power in Wesker's face. "So he did it. He made you."

"That's what he told me." She looked exactly as Monette did. Everything about her was mirrored, but her appearance could never make Wesker give in. Inside, she was completely different.

"You're not my wife."

"No shit." Despite her being a different woman altogether, Wesker couldn't hurt her, not now. "I'm missing one piece of the puzzle. I'm no carbon copy of your dear, sweet, perfect, wife. If I had her soul.." Trailing off, she gently kicked a pebble by her foot, but it still went pretty far. As she looked back up at him, the moonlight enhanced the glistening of her tear-filled eyes.

"Why?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why do you still win?" Frowning, he took a step closer to her. Was she acting? Was this all Spencer's plot?

No, it couldn't be. This was real and it hurt him, but he wouldn't break. "You have freedom!" she cried, stomping her foot. "You weren't born and aged abnormally and diagnosed with lung cancer an- and arthritis! You- you weren't given a deal that if you survive the first few weeks of an agonizing beginning that you, unlike your siblings would live. Would get the life… and death giving virus. I lived to die and become what I am. I can never be my own person!"

"So you blame me," he stated. "Well, it's not my fault…" he paused, giving her the chance to give him her name.

"Marisol," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Marisol. There's no help that I can give you. But I will not apologize for loving my wife."

"You loved her enough to get her killed, that's right!" Wesker wasn't phased by that comment at all. Eventually, he would have to come to terms with that fact too. Nothing he did could change the past, not even the words from the mouth of his wife's copy. She was right and not just being spiteful.

"Because you loved her, I was damned," she said. Wesker saw her raise her hand to slap him, but he didn't move. She was strong, so strong that his head was now the other way. Over and over she slapped him, his head going from one side to the other, until she got tired and she began to fall, until Wesker caught her by her arms. "I hate you!" she cried again and again.

It was happening again. This had been an argument years ago. This was his wife at one time. "Shh. Calm down," he said, rubbing her back. He pitied her, this creature, this abomination.

If Spencer wanted to hurt him then he did. He couldn't be cruel, he couldn't leave her there. This was like his wife's offspring in a way, and if she had the same soul then this would be his wife. But this was it, the last straw. Spencer had gone too far and he was going to make sure this was the end of him. Marisol was going to be the key to his undoing.

A/N: Yeah, um, review please. Thanks to Illise and MariFM who faithfully review. I just request that everyone else review too cause I know I haven't been doing too great. If there are errors then forgive me, because I was pretty much crying through the whole fic so I'm sorry. Just review everyone.


	8. Death

A/N: I just wanna say to everyone that after finding out about the latest death in the family that I thought that was it. But the grieving continues, bickering, my father's upset, and when Brazil LaCour said his good-byes to us, he probably knew this would come. He knew that this would affect us all horrendously. Sometimes we called him evil and he could be so, but it's like trying to hate someone and you just can't. He went out with a bang, a show of fireworks that hasn't quite ended, instead everything just went wrong and everything's burning down around us. Good thing morbidity (the computer says that that's a word) inspires me. I think the next fic I write will be better, this fic- I just can't seem to make it have that edge I normally have. Normally I write things that are novel worthy, but this fic isn't all that. Maybe next time I'll do a Claire/Wesker that's… better than this. I just feel like I did this one all wrong. So all there is for me to do is finish this and start anew. And if you wonder I think my writing in this fic isn't so great, check out "Missing in Action" or the only chapter I've written of "Unfathomable." So I want to thank Illise and MariFM for always reviewing and the fact that y'all haven't ever left me review-less. Maybe I'll get my groove back. I just gotta work at it. And hope that everyone that has seemingly abandoned TGOE will give me some criticism on it. Where the hell y'all at? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own RE ok? Marisol is mine and so is this fic, but I doubt that anyone wants Marisol after her behavior right?

_Hosea 13:14_

"_I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. Where, O death, are your plagues? Where, O grave, is your destruction? I will have no compassion,_"

Death, such an inconvenience, and yet such a necessity. For one to gain immortality one must pass this trial. You lose your body, but Wesker, Spencer, and Marisol lost their souls. So many lost to the seduction of youth and being eternal. Being gods upon the soil of the earth. Being indestructible freaks of science.

Vanity would always constrict them, but not the real geniuses like Birkin and Marcus. Everyday you live knowing that your demise, the fate inevitable to others won't challenge you, the more of you, you lose. Piece by piece, bit by bit, emotion becomes nothing but something to excite and arouse. Sorrow and grief's effects aren't overcome, but are better understood. When lifetimes of death stand in your journey that you would never complete a decision to learn how to move on is what you will spend most of your time contemplating over.

Now we know why the gods stay in heaven. Because they bleed, they cry, they want, they fail. Perfection is only strived for because we all know that it doesn't exist, for if it did someone would be perfect. No one is. Not Wesker, not Spencer.

Spencer's heart was black and nothing anymore. Just a waste of space in his body. Like the very corpses he helped reanimate he acted on nothing but impulse. Just because he could talk and run and laugh didn't make him better, because he always listened to his brain. Just like any human, he was angry, angry that his monitor showed Wesker and Marisol sitting across from each other on separate couches.

Now if he really was a god, then why was no one fearing him? In rage, he grinded his teeth together, his veins were visible and his eyes were red with fury. No one had control, not any of the so called people who were "better." No one was better. They were all just beings whose main existence was to disappoint, destroy, and die.

Lust, sloth, vanity, murder, hate, gluttony, death, pestilence, famine, disease, greed, wrath- all spread through the most powerful being on earth: man. Apparently the ones we despise are doing a hell of a great job being man. Call them inhuman if you want, but you do it only out of jealousy that they can admit their imperfections and yet you just find them irresistible. It's like drugs, peeking, or sex; you know you shouldn't, but the adrenaline just feels so good. And even though you say it, you know damn well that you don't regret anything.

Spencer regretted nothing, just like everyone should. To regret was weak, wishing you didn't do it was different. Right now he wished Marisol was kept on a tighter leash, but he didn't regret that he didn't restrain her from anything. Regret is for the miserable, the hopeless, those undeserving of life or chances. Spencer, Wesker, Marisol, even Birkin knew that once you did something that it was done.

Seem human enough to you now? They just didn't die like humans, and unlike humans, the more they lived the more they would want to. Spencer wished that the camera could have been one with sound feed, but it wasn't. An advantage for Marisol, who would no doubt do something stupid, something only a mortal would just have to do on impulse: betray the man she owed everything to.

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She was so familiar, so like his wife, and yet so undeniably different. Could he lie to himself and say his wife didn't lie, steal, or even murder? No, she never stole, but murder wasn't above her. Wesker watched Marisol take a sip of whisky and sit the glass back on the coffee table. Just like his wife, she lied, and just like Monette she definitely killed.

Who would have guessed that his little care-free, perfect wife was a killer? It was a memory he didn't want, just like his memory of her little habit. Marisol had stopped crying and now looked at the blond. Not caring that he sat there looking superior, arms folded, she crossed her legs, equally intimidating. "Surely you didn't just come over here to cry on my shoulder and drink my whiskey," said Wesker, his face showing that he was thoughtful.

"Surely you didn't let me in just so you could cater to my needs," she countered. She looked like Monette when she was confused, but just as Monette would do, was trying to hide it with an indifferent face. He let a smile creep across his thin lips, but he was only pretending that she sounded humorous. The truth was, this was frightening.

"Certainly you don't want stories about your 'mother,' but you want something more. A life? Answers? Or perhaps proof that she wasn't better than you," he offered, the latter causing her to slowly avert her eyes from him.

Once she looked back at him, she tried to harden her voice as she said, "I don't need proof."

"Then perhaps reassurance."

"She wasn't better than me."

"Oh yes, dear heart, she was." Underneath his cool exterior, he was becoming angered by her denial. She knew Monette was better, she just wanted to get to sleep at night, thinking that her taking over the life of another was actually for the good of the world. "You see, Monette-"

"Tried to make everything right by pretending that she was a goody-two-shoes!" she interrupted, the volume of her voice slightly increasing but no anger was taken away from the words. "A good little Catholic girl, with nothing but sunshine and rainbows in her life."

"You know that's not true." Crossing his legs, Wesker's smirk returned. On her face, it was clear that the words she spoke were forced, uneasily exiting her lips before stinging her tongue. "Because Monette repented, she grieved, made peace with everything that she did, but you wallow in your self-pity and blame everyone you can for the way you are, for the woman you cannot help but represent physically." Angrily and swiftly, she picked up the glass of whiskey and finished it off with a swallow before trying not to slam it back down on the table.

A smug Wesker refilled the glass and licked his lips in satisfaction at her anger, her disappointment. "So this is how you get your kicks huh?" she asked angrily, but somehow she managed to smirk. "You love it. Love it because it makes you feel good. Makes you forget how Monette made you believe a monster was a man." His smirk disappearing, his shoulders fell, unable to understand how she knew so much. "It hurt didn't it? She just let it slip one day huh? Let it slip that you failed her as a husband, as a man."

With a sharp laugh, she shook her head at him before continuing her attack of his imperfections. "A man is supposed to be able give his wife babies, but she took the heat for you for a long time. Saying she was too petite or just too damn unlucky. Your wife was as healthy as a horse, whereas your little swimmers just were just too tired after the race. There was nothing wrong with your wife, it was you, your DNA. That's why you became a monster, because as a man, you were like a child, you were shooting blanks, and that's why your wife tried to leave you! There was nothing wrong with her eggs, you just couldn't plant a seed too deep, but she was as fertile as the Nile! You were trying to grow watermelon in the snowstorm! So she tried to escape you without walking out: suicide, and you ruined that plan for her too!"

Suddenly, the table between them flew into the wall and Wesker had turned over the couch she was on when he jumped on her. Behind the couch, he was on top of her, his hands around her neck, but she managed to laugh at his attempt to harm her. "You can't kill me. God, your wife had more balls than you; she actually killed someone when they pissed her off!" Marisol's knee connected with Wesker's groin causing him to roll off of her, groaning and cursing in pain. No one had hurt him like that in a long time, the pain was somehow a pleasurable memory to once have had.

Now, Marisol was straddling him, looking smug and satisfied with his pain. Her mouth opened to say something, but Wesker's fist connected with her nose, and she fell back, her head hitting the wall, only leaving a very noticeable crack. Both stumbled to their feet and the woman before him touched her nose and looked at her fingers, which now had blood on them. Laughing, she threw Wesker off guard and it cost him. With the same agility that he displayed, she punched him acroos the mouth and he tasted blood.

"Ah, we both bleed," she said with fake marvel. Enraged and confused, Wesker slammed her into the wall, her laughter invading his ears. As he cornered her, his arms keeping her in place, she didn't move, only laughed.

"Gods don't bleed," he seethed.

"Oh, so now your theory of what you thought you were has been debun-" Wesker's lips against hers quieted her. After getting over the shock the only sound heard from her was her breathing. Both tasted the other's blood, felt the other's hips pressing against their own. A face appeared in Wesker's mind, but the moment only fogged it. There was red hair, it was someone he was forgetting, and his mind wanted him to remember.

Giving in to lust, he pushed the face away, only thinking about the woman he was holding, pushing into the wall, the woman that was making him feel something he thought he would never miss: pain. The person in his head was trying to come back, but he didn't want to remember, not until after this. Just as he tried to remove her shirt, Marisol broke the kiss, a grin on her face. Confused again, Wesker turned to see Claire standing at the door, eyes wide and mouth agape. Wesker felt caught and this feeling was what he had missed, the feeling of being alive.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, this is kind of like the writing normally do. It's unpredictable, soap opera-ish and the thing that makes people gasp. The thing that makes people look at how the soap opera and say, "Oh my God, you bitch, how could you?!" Yeah, well, review please. Then ask yourself, "Why was Wesker thinking of a red head if he was having a good time?" Claire/Wesker fans, don't worry.


	9. Truth

Disclaimer: Seeing as I'm broke and don't wanna be sued, Capcom owns RE and that's the reason it's so good.

In life, Leon always saw the good, except for now. He had returned home after listening to Spencer rant about Marisol running off somewhere. There was still nothing about Rebecca; Spencer wasn't going to let him know either. This was one more thing for him to worry about. Chris and the others had been running around, completely despaired and unable to figure out a way to get back Claire. He knew everything was falling apart when Jill had told him she hoped Claire stayed gone seeing as she had run off.

What was in that girl's head? Why was Wesker so important?

_Because she thinks he's the only one who can get Sherry back_.

Soon, Spencer was going to have to resort to dropping a bombshell. He was going to tell everyone what Leon had done. That Leon was just another lackey for Umbrella, another dog on a very short chain. As a human, Leon made mistakes, but what was Marisol's excuse for being such a screw up? Wherever she had gone that night, it was going to cost Spencer greatly.

The old man was afraid now; Wesker was going to get his revenge now that Umbrella's "happy little family of freaks" was falling apart. What could he expect out of the copy of a depressed woman who was crazy enough to marry a man like Albert Wesker? Did he think he would create someone who was a 50's housewife by day and a lethal spy by night? She was going to get him killed and Leon couldn't wait until Wesker found out about her; he would certainly use her to his advantage. Then there was Ada Wong.

What could he say about that woman that hasn't been said about everything controversial thing ever mentioned? The game she played was tiring, and got boring long ago. Deciding to cut his loses, Leon had gotten over whatever he had felt for her. His future held no love or romance for him in it. The women he wanted just never were right for him. Claire had lost it, giving in to Wesker and whatever charm he had, maybe it was the sophistication…

Ada was just going to lead him to another dead end. If Wesker could have a happy little family then so could she. She was too selfish, had too much pride, but laid down and rolled over for the man who was the highest bidder. He couldn't judge; he had been there before too. At the memory of where he was, he felt dirty and used.

That feeling was everlasting, just something he couldn't erase from the blackboard. The saying, "Every man has his price," was right. After this was all over, he wouldn't even prosper. Spencer was not going down alone, he would drag everyone within an 80 mile radius down into the deep grave he'd been digging for himself for years. All the people who said the innocent are already dead were right, they received their blessing without the unclean knowing.

Just as he closed his eyes, his phone rang, bringing him out of his stew of grief. "Hello?" he answered, sounding angry unintentionally.

"Open your door," came a familiar voice. Frowning, he heard the other end of the line click. As he slowly made his way to the door, he turned off the cordless phone, hitting "Talk." After tossing the phone onto the nearest couch, he braced himself, slowly turning the doorknob. He wasn't alert enough, for someone came crashing in, taking Leon to the ground. Shocked, he lie there underneath his attacker, taking punches to his cheeks, but they weren't strong blows.

The person seemed hesitant and afraid. This cost the attacker as Leon managed to push the person off of him and he jumped up to flip on the lights. Getting up off the floor was Billy, his face red and eyes full of accusation. "Wha- What the hell is wrong with you man?" asked an incredulous Leon, wiping blood from his mouth.

"You son of a bitch! You kidnapped Rebecca!" he yelled at the brunette. Leon was sure he had turned white as his mouth fell open. He was in trouble now, he was sure Billy knew it was true from his reaction. "I know it was you. Rebecca said she was going to see you Leon and she never came back." The disheveled intruder ran his fingers through his brown hair, making it stick up.

"Billy… I…" Leon trailed off, unable to hide his guilt. It tore at him so sharply to know that Billy had already known, that only meant that he never trusted him to begin with. Now he would have to explain. "We need to… get back to Chris'." They deserved to know the truth, but the only reason Leon agreed to tell it was because Barry had rushed back.

He would definitely hold Chris back while Leon got a head start.

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"Hello Claire!" Marisol's voice sounded genuinely happy, but Claire knew it was sarcasm. Not knowing what to do, the redhead looked down at her bare feet and shifted her weight many times before she was able to look at the two monsters before her. Feeling dizzy, she didn't know if it was from shock or the virus. Wesker looked quite proud of himself as he and Marisol wiped the blood off of their faces.

Not wanting to think of what she had walked in on, she tried to throw a rude greeting to the two, but instead ended up throwing up everything in her stomach instead of words from her mouth.

"Ew!" Marisol grimaced before nearing the redhead who now felt completely empty and just wanted to get away. Why did she throw up?

_Maybe because you just caught Wesker making out with a clone of his dead wife who he will always love. Maybe you're jealous_.

"No I'm not," Claire whispered to voice in her head, receiving odd stares from Wesker and Marisol. Looking indifferent, Wesker gestured for them to follow him to the dining room. Jealousy is a weird thing. Personally the feeling is overrated and just good for nothing, but Claire couldn't help but eye the back of Marisol's head as they followed Wesker. A voice inside of her told her to ignore the fact that she would get her ass kicked and just start swinging.

Was the virus doing this to her? Taking over her mind and making her act this way? When she saw Wesker kissing Marisol she wanted to hurt her, to rip her hair out of her head. Maybe she was just upset about Sherry and how she had her. Yeah, that was it.

Once inside the dining room, Wesker sat at the head of the table while both women sat on either side of him. Claire was betting that his ego needed deflating right about now. "Ms. Redfield, Marisol may be here with us for some time," said the blond, probably knowing that this would be torture for her.

"I'm guessing you two want privacy," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very small next to Marisol.

"Actually, she's here to help us," was his reply. He might as well have stuck his tongue out because he made her feel dumb. Claire was pretty sure her eyes were wide as she tried to comprehend what Wesker was talking about. Marisol… helping them? Wait a minute, _them_?

"Might as well seeing as I'm a little sick of slavery," said a grinning Marisol. "Spencer's just been a bit unbearable so I think maybe it's time for me to break free of that pompous ass." They all knew that there was no freedom for her, that she would have to spend her life looking over her shoulder, trying to pass herself off as someone new to the world when in fact genetics would prove her to be nothing new.

"Where will you go?" asked Claire, unbelievably concerned with what would happen to her. Claire remembered the unbearable thought of the Government getting a hold of Sherry. It like a concentration camp, but far worse. They would cut her open, knowing she wouldn't die, just to get a peek inside of her.

"I guess Hawaii… or Brazil. Nah, Monette has family in Brazil so Hawaii is where I'll go. Maybe Britain. I got an itch for those damn hot Englishmen." Somehow, her comments made Claire grin. Maybe she wasn't so bad, maybe it was just the fact that she was intimidating. Truth be told, she wasn't really frightening or someone Claire was all that worried about.

Spencer was someone she didn't trust. Wesker, well he was another story. He had changed her in more ways than she had thought possible. "So, how is she gonna help us?" asked the redhead, an eyebrow raised.

"I give you Sherry, I give you Rebecca, -yes, we got her too- I'll even give y'all a little Christmas present that Spencer was trying to keep to himself." Marisol was becoming mysterious now. What exactly did she mean? A present sounded a little too suspicious, but surely she didn't hop on a jet to get here this late so she could lie. "All we gotta do is blow Spencer's little hideout to bits. Don't ya just love bombs?"

"A nice proposal, but Spencer knows that you're here betraying him. He'd be a fool not to know," said Wesker, throwing in his two cents.

"Of course he knows, but he doesn't think I'm stupid enough to go through with destroying him. He don't know me very well do he?" To Wesker, she sounded just like Monette. They both admitted that stupidity, genius, and bravery all had coinciding lines.


	10. Answers and More

A/N: Had the funeral today, the wake was last night. I'm beat and so mad that I have to go back to school Tuesday, well, I can't go back unless I pay a fee for a stupid book that I didn't lose, but somebody else got it, therefore it got turned in. School is such a scam. Well, maybe school, which I hate will be better than the worst summer of my life… so far; the rest of my life hasn't happened, I'm only sixteen. Well, sorry everyone, going back to school is torture and I fear that 11th grade is gonna be the most pointless year of education I've ever been through… just like 10th… and 9th. College in Britain better rock or else cause school sucking and being stupid as it is, is just pathetic. And now they've put energy drinks in the machines… the freshmen are going to destroy the school y'all. GOD, I'M TIRED OF SCHOOL, AND YOU THINK THAT AT 102 DEGRESS THEY WOULD HOLD IT OFF FOR A WHILE. Oh well, we gets snow this year. And I apologize in advance if school interferes with my updates. On to the chapter!

Disclaimer: Nope, RE still ain't mine.

When he grilled suspects, Leon didn't know how they felt. Now though, he felt like he was filleting. Four pairs of eyes were on him, watching his every move, acting as if him shifting in his chair was somehow an attempt to run. For once, he felt like the criminal he was as he told his story. And as he delved deeper into his past, their faces only contorted more in disgust.

After Leon survived the horror of Raccoon City, he wasn't done with zombie hunting. Umbrella had made him a deal he couldn't turn down. Anyone would sell their bodies and services all for the right amount of cash. Umbrella had that right amount of cash. If he would have known though that he would have been indebted to them, he would have never signed up.

The Government got nosey, and Leon's name turned up on a few pieces of paper. Umbrella got him out of trouble and so he owed them a lot. Right now, he owed Spencer that disk. Spencer had Leon wrapped tightly, bending him to his will like a reed bending in a river's flow. So could they blame him?

Or was he worse than Jill, Barry, and even Claire? He was a hypocrite, a thief, a liar. Chris fully understood why he never believed a word out of his mouth before. Now that he knew that Leon was the key to ending everything, Chris wanted to forgive him instantly. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry. But we can get Claire back and even get rid of Spencer," said a guilt-wracked Leon, how would he live?

"You just said that the guy could be anybody," said Barry, the only one who had the courage and heart to forgive Leon. "How do we know if we're not being tricked right now? He tricked Wesker."

"Yeah, but Spencer's losing everything already. Any attempt he made would be futile." Leon's voice was strong and sure. There was no way that, that bastard could keep his head above the water this time. Not this far into the game. "I also think that Marisol's gonna be on our side, which is also apparently Wesker's side."

"Who the hell's Marisol?" Chris finally spoke. How would he react to hearing what Leon had to tell him about her? There was only one way to find out.

"She's Monette's clone." Leon saw them all stare at him, incredulous looks on their faces. Even Billy seemed to be interested in this. "She was infected with some kind of T Virus so that's why she's still alive. Spencer made her, but tonight she took off in one of the company's jets so I guess she went to see the only person who would accept her: Wesker. It's the only reason I could think of that Spencer would be so pissed at her for going somewhere."

"So. We gotta go where exactly?" asked a confused looking Billy. Rebecca was at the facility in town so she wasn't far. After Leon told him this he seemed to look a bit more relieved and both embarrassed that she was so close and he didn't know. But there was no such thing as overreacting with Umbrella. When dealing with them, you could never be too careful.

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Everyone was sure that Ada felt a bit ganged up on and a little insane. Her eyes had never left Marisol, even when she took a seat next to the woman, mouth agape and heart beating loud enough for them to hear. This wasn't supposed to happen, now everything would be ruined. "Wesker?" whispered the clone, trying to figure out what plan he had to fool his unfaithful employee.

"Mo- Monette?" stammered the Asian woman, finding her voice. The trio stared at each other, trying to silently send messages, even Wesker was at a loss for words. Without saying anything, Marisol did the only thing she could do, she picked up a candle stick casually from the table and hit Ada in the back of the head with it.

"Well, that works," said Claire, trying not to smile, but instead she wanted to seem serious in front of Wesker and Marisol. Taking her seat, Marisol cleared her throat, not even paying attention to the unconscious woman next to her.

"She won't remember a thing," the black haired woman assured them. "She might even wake up calling herself the 'Pink bunny who built Stonehenge.'" Claire cracked a smile, but Wesker didn't seem at all amused, but she knew he was. Pretending was something that he was getting very bad at lately. It seemed as though his whole exterior was falling apart and the world just kept getting more insane than he was.

"Since everything's coming out tonight," started Marisol looking at Ada to make sure she was still out cold, "Wesker, do you think that we should tell Claire… about Leon?"

"Leon is of no importance-"

"Don't give me that shit!" she interrupted, arousing Claire's curiosity. "He means something to you too. You know what he knows, what he has…" Claire really wished that she hadn't trailed off, if she knew something, she should tell. Of course, Umbrella's protocol for secrets might have something to do with that. "Come with me, before Ms. Bitch wakes up, oops, that's my name."

Claire obediently followed Marisol out, only giving Wesker a questioning stare before she was out of sight around the corner. After asking, Claire showed Marisol to her room they both sat on her bed, but Claire had to warn her not to close her door, or else they would both be locked in. "Leon's my partner," Marisol said blandly.

"What?!" Claire yelled, causing the woman before her to cover her ears. Looking down at her comforter in disbelief, Claire tucked stray strands of hair behind her ears.

"Leon's been working for Umbrella since he escaped Raccoon City!" she yelled back as if Claire should have known this already. She didn't, and every word that came out of Marisol's mouth made it harder for Claire's brain to receive oxygen. "Babe, Leon's been playin' y'all for a year."

"But why?"

"To save his ass from prison… federal… no- wait, isn't the act of treason punishable by… court marshal?" She sounded playful, but nothing about the situation was funny. Her best friend, a guy she even pictured herself with a while back, was a liar and a traitor?

"You're-"

"Lying?" the Hispanic woman finished. "I think not. Why would I? That's just a stupid thing to lie about. Plus, _you _trust _Wesker_. Reason enough to trust me?" It was reason enough. Leon lied to her. When Chris and the others found out they would kill him.

"What happened to my life?" she whined, burying her face in her hands, fearing that she would cry.

"Don't cry. Whatever you do, do _not_ cry." Between her fingers she saw that Marisol's face was serious and hard. Maybe she just couldn't take it if she saw her crying. Maybe she was afraid her protective walls would break down too. After seeing the real Monette cry of sorrow right before she died, Claire didn't think she could stand to watch this sad creature before her weep.

Having every right to cry didn't mean that Claire could sit there and take it. So she would hold back her tears for another day. "You don't need to hear the rest of this now so… I'm going back to Spencer, get this beating over with."

"That's it huh? That's your life?" asked a red faced Claire. Holding in her tears only caused for frustration and anger to take its place.

"For now," the clone replied, looking mischievous. She looked like a strong woman. A woman ready for war.

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Claire assumed that Ada had left since Wesker had gone back to his room. Feeling alone, she stood at his door, unsure of what to do.

_Think it out sweetheart. What happens when it's you+Wesker+bedroom_?

Deciding that this wasn't exactly a bright idea, she was about to turn to leave, until the door opened and Wesker appeared before her. Feeling her cheeks burning, she looked down at her feet, hoping that somehow she could just disappear like that genie on television. "Yes?" came his deep voice, sounding nothing near concerned. Strange how no matter what he said he always sounded rude. God, what was with him?

"I need to talk to you," she said, finding the confidence to look up at him, not able to meet his eyes. More than anything she wished she could find his shade stash and just stomp them to pieces. Instead of giving her a verbal answer he just stepped back, allowing her inside the room she never dared to step back into. Every time she get closer to him, thinking she knew him, they were suddenly at the distance they had started at.

_And you care why exactly_?

Standing in the middle of the room, she played with her hands, watching him close the door with dread. Why did he have to do that? The maid and cook weren't going to care about what went on in there. Or at least Claire hoped not. Instead of saying anything he walked to her, backing her up until she fell into his bed.

With a worried look on her face, she watched him squat down so that he was eye level with her and he folded his arms over his chest. "What?" he asked without a greeting. There was no sarcasm, no smart little comment, just him acting weirder than usual. Claire flinched at a feeling in her stomach, but she had become used to the virus doing that by now.

"No friendly hello?" she asked, only getting the sight of seeing him raise an eyebrow. "Ok then. Um, why were you and Marisol so chummy earlier?" As soon as those words exited her mouth, she covered it with her hands and prayed that he took it as a joke. As a grin crossed his face, she tanked God that the part of his brain that read "Sense of Humor" was turned back on.

"Does it bother you Ms. Redfield?" he asked.

"No," she lied, but he didn't press her.

"Because the woman is seductive and a copy of my wife," he admitted, not seeming at all phased by anything. There was nothing to deny. So should Claire even bother sugarcoating the matter?

"Do you want her to take Monette's place?" That was too far. Suddenly they were both on their feet and Wesker was holding her by her hair. Claire was sure he would tug out a plug.

"No one can replace my wife!" he growled. "Got it?!"

"Ye- yes! Yes!" she cried in pain. After a minute of agony, he released her and she fell to the ground, holding her aching scalp. "I didn't mean to…" Unexpectedly, he fell to the carpet too, right in front of her.

"Don't expect her to be the next Mrs. Wesker." At his answer, Claire looked up at him, seeing through his shades and into his eyes. None of the abnormalities mattered at this moment. She received the answer she wanted, but she didn't know what to do with it. She didn't know what the next step was, she only felt relief.

"May I ask why this is so important to you?" Was that genuine mannerism he spoke with? It was.

"I don't know. Just curious I guess." Giving a soft chuckle, he stood and helped her to her feet. Something about this man was different and she didn't know what it was. "You're not Spencer are you?" His grin widened.

"No dear heart," he answered, proving that it was him with those words. He was so close, too close. So close that she knew what was coming next and she feared it. He was once again going to hurt her.

A/N: AWW. Don't cha just hate that? Oh well, review peoples and you'll find out what's next!


	11. Sherry

A/N: Wow. How long has it been? Oh well, here I am now. I never thought junior year would be so easy… and yet so boring. I've been emotionally numb for some time so… yeah. Somehow I write ok… I think. I don't know how I feel about someone, but whatever. I just wanna know where the hell did all the people who read the first part of TGOE go? No, seriously. Like, people for my Inuyasha story put the story as favorite and yet they don't review. Uh, as my friend's shirt says, "Uh, Dude… WTF?" The more I write the more frustrated I get. I look for feedback and the only ones who are faithful to the story are MariFM and Illise, love y'all by the way. Dude it's messed up. There are some retarded-ass stories on that get like 500 reviews for 4 chapters of a story that -for lack of better words- "sucks." Tell me how something that it appears that a 3 year-old wrote gets so much recognition. I write on this site to get help on my work, to get feedback on my writing, to improve myself. Don't be rude or anything, but man give me something because at least a frickin' pat on the back will help my self esteem. I write better under pressure, but if no one's pressuring me then how the hell can I finish my book? I don't even normally write like this, I write better than this stuff that I write for entertainment, this is like humor for me. I write dark, depressing, psychological stuff that makes my teachers go, "Damn that's good." Where did the love for Literature go? My English teacher sucks as a teacher, she doesn't care about anything and so in turn I might be losing my passion for this story since no one wants to teach me. They just want to correct grammatical errors and play peek-a-boo at certain chapters. God, writing is supposed to be my escape and more, because I'm mourning so many deaths, I'm getting depressed again, my brother's in jail, and my guy is overly-possessive and will possibly murder all my guy friends. Then I'll start having to hang with girls. Sorry, I had to get that out. Enjoy the freakin' chapter and sorry that took so long, but please leave me a review.

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, but Marisol is mine and so is this fic.

It was all in slow motion. Claire saw Wesker raising his hand to connect with her face, to caress her cheeks gently before running his fingers over her lips. Before she realized what she was doing, Claire took his hand into both of hers and began kissing it. There was no denying that this was what she came here for. Claire came into that bedroom to interrogate Wesker, to make sure she wasn't stepping on anyone's toes.

Not that Marisol could stop her. She didn't know why, but she wanted this more than anything. She wanted to feel Wesker's touch. What was making her act this way? Did she just need it or was it the virus?

He infected her and she didn't forget, because it just didn't matter anymore. None of that mattered. Claire was doomed forever to be a freak, so making the most of it was all she could do. Suddenly, he embraced her, seeming like it would hurt him to let go. Inside of her heart, she knew his intentions weren't good but there was nothing else to lose.

No pride could be lost from sleeping with him because she had already done it twice. As he lowered his head to hers to kiss her, her thoughts raced. Unable to remember what, she mumbled in between kisses, hoping it wasn't anything she would regret. Whatever it was, it made him carry her to his bed anxiously and caused him to tear off her clothes.

The night seemed to go on forever for them, not that Claire minded. Unable to figure out this new feeling that she had developed for Wesker, she gave in. Tonight she only wanted one thing: to be able to wake up next to this man.

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Through her blue eyes the world seemed so confusing. Her father didn't love her, and her mother had chosen to live a hopeless life pining over her father. Thinking of the man in the oversized lab coat only made her angrier. It made her hate herself. It pained Sherry to be only two hours away from Wesker and Claire, but she couldn't get to them. Suddenly, someone stumbled into the room, barely able to hold themselves up.

Sitting up on the cot and turning on the lamp, Sherry saw Marisol fall to the wooden floor, bloodied and beaten. Before she realized what she was doing she was on the floor beside the woman, helping her to her feet. Sherry thanked God that Marisol only weighed about a hundred pounds; otherwise she would have never gotten her onto the cot. Wincing in pain, she opened her eyes and gave her a gratuitous look. "What happened to you?" asked the blonde.

Obviously, Spencer had gotten there just to meet up with her. "Spencer," said the older woman, sucking her tongue in pain.

"For what?"

"Wesker," she mumbled, trying to fight off unconsciousness. Blood was caked under her nose and on her lips, her cheek was cut, and Sherry could see a bruises on her neck the shapes of a man's hands. Of Spencer's hands; he was the only one other than Wesker who could hurt her at all. Her body was badly bruised and a blood gushed from a wound on her forehead. Sherry wished there was someway she could help. But she couldn't in an underground facility where she didn't even have something to just wipe the blood away with.

It didn't matter anyway. During a five minute nap she would probably wake up and be just fine. That's what she always did. The question was, "In what way did she betray Spencer this time?" "What about Wesker?" asked the little girl, happy to even hear someone speak the name.

"He…" Marisol trailed off, earning her a shake from the teenager. "I'm helping him…"

"Helping him what?"

"Helping him kill him." That was all she needed to hear. She let the woman slip off into sleep and she sat on the floor smiling. Wesker and Claire were coming for her. They were after her!

The only people in the world who never let her down were coming. Taking a quick peek at the clone, Sherry saw that same woman she did a month ago. A grown woman acting like a one year old, the only word she understood was: survive. They made Sherry watch the whole experiment. All of Marisol's siblings either died or were terminated.

Most of her sisters were killed because of deformities, while about twenty-eight of them just couldn't hold out. Sometimes the lung cancer they got would spread to their brains, sometimes the arthritis would make them kill themselves or beg the doctors to do it until they gave in. Marisol was one of them with arthritis, but instead of crying about it all night, after tests and physicals she just slept away her pain. Not once though did she cry during all of the tumult, all of the death. Over one hundred of her sisters put to death because of abnormalities and Marisol never once asked why.

Then she began questioning Spencer after he killed her and she came back. Spencer didn't like that at all. So she wasn't the perfect little slave that he thought she was. Among other human characteristics, Marisol had also grown a backbone. The dog had gotten loose from her chain and now she was never coming back. Sherry didn't know what to think of this woman.

Sometimes she wondered if she really was Monette. Maybe that's why she survived. She never understood theology, but she sometimes felt that people came back. Maybe for Wesker to be happy- no. This wasn't Monette, this was what she was long before she met Wesker.

Wesker. He was a man that Sherry could trust, a man that believed in her. Sadly, she had all this free time to think and her mind was saying that maybe Wesker didn't want her. There was no doubt that Wesker wanted what she had. Whatever it was it made Sherry hurt and cry, it made her a target in this world of deceit, death, and chaos.

Strangely, chaos kept things right. Chaos was her life. Her father made sure that it would always remain so, even if he was dead.

A/N: I know that it's short, but like I said earlier, whatever. Thanks for those who have reviewed me, because I do have more reviews than I expected. Not really. Anyway, just review, please. Maybe next time I'll be in a better mood, cause earlier I think that was just my depression talking because right now I'm feeling pretty sad so forgive me for the things I typed, but I won't remove them because it'll be like I never got it out in the first place. Once again, review.


	12. Hello

A/N: Hello all! Been a while huh? Well, I just really feel horrible that it's been as long as it has been. So, so, sorry! Well, what else can I say except: Here I go!

Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil.

The labs were places they could never get used to. Chris, Barry, Jill, Leon, and Billy had gotten into Spencer's labs, and Leon showed them the way to the most secret part of all. Even he didn't know what to expect. "What's down here?" asked an impatient Chris, alert the whole way.

"According to Marisol, something that can help get rid of Spencer and can help us find the truth," answered Leon, navigating the halls.

"Sounds more like a some_one_," muttered Billy. His mind wandered to the twisted Dr. Marcus. The man's sick obsession had gotten him too many places, but it ultimately led to his grave. They had reached the end of the corridor at an abrupt stop.

"Are you sure you have the right password?" asked Jill in a hushed voice. She still wasn't completely convinced that they were the only things walking the halls. After a nod from Leon, Jill seemed to calm down a bit and watched as the young man entered a few numbers in the keypad on the wall beside the heavy-looking, wooden door.

The digital word, "Password?" ran across the screen and they all heard Leon let out a hopeful sigh. "Monette," he said clearly and his comrades felt surprise hit them. Even after the door audibly unlocked, Jill, Chris, Billy, and Barry only stared at the back of Leon's head. Why would the password be the name of Wesker's late wife? Obviously, something more had happened than even Claire knew.

Was it just some sick joke? Despite feeling his friends' confusion Leon walked through the door to be met by a white room. They all had the same look of surprise on their faces as they looked beyond the unbreakable glass before them. There was a bed with a man on it, his back to them.

"Who is that?" asked Billy, squinting. With questioning looks on their faces, the group turned to Leon, but he could provide no answer. Upon observation, one could say that he had been struck dumb.

"No," he whispered, and the man on the bed stirred and turned. It was then that everyone saw the man's face; his forehead was covered by dirty blond hair. He looked exactly the same as he did before he decided to take his fate into his own hands.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Kennedy." came the familiar, condescending voice. This was like a nightmare of some kind. It was like Leon would be stuck there to endure a haunting for some time. "Oh no, this is real."

"Spencer?" Leon asked, taking a step back from the glass. The man only shook his head at him, seeming to be enjoying the amount of fear that had been struck into him. "Birkin." he stated, earning him a laugh from the man before them. "You're alive?"

"If you can call this an existence," was his reply as he put a hand up to the glass. Suddenly, his smug look disappeared and now he looked sad. Never had Leon seen this before, the sight of the "Great William Birkin," looking down on his luck. He wore not the oversized, lab coat that he used to, but instead a white tee and what appeared to be jogging pants.

"I need to find Rebecca," Billy said breathlessly. If he was back from the grave then it was possible that Marcus was too. That was a chance that he was unwilling to take. He got no answer though. After he looked at his friends with a look of desperation, Chris, Jill, and Barry nodded.

They all knew that Leon needed to speak with Birkin; they knew that there was unfinished business. They had a map and they knew that they would manage. Leon was silent until he couldn't hear his friends' retreating footsteps, and now he stood alone, face to face with the man he had killed. The man he had blamed for his fate for so many years.

"Birkin," he said the name with detest. The sound of his shoes against the floor as he neared the glass separating them echoed, only adding to coldness of their stairs. "Why are you here?" For a question, the words came out quite accusing, as if his nemesis was there to do him wrong. "You… you should be dead."

"Well, what's funny is that Spencer should be dead, Wesker should be dead, Ada should be dead, and above all _you_ by all rights should be dead." Birkin's frown became one of an envious man. He was right though; by now Leon should have been hunted down and killed. It always seemed that he escaped his comeuppance, and seeing a he had a whole group with him, he seemed to be a hero. Eye to eye, they continued to stare each other down.

"Why did you ever do it?" asked Leon, fire burning in his eyes. Birkin had lost his mind, or was it more? Was there a deeper meaning to why he murdered anyone that stood in his way? Another reason that could possibly explain why he gave up a bright future all to create chaos?

"Why does it matter?" he countered, folding his arms, brining back the memory of the overly-confident man everyone once feared.

"Because I want to know if I can trust you." Leon's enemy seemed to want to drop his jaw, but managed to keep his composure. It was apparent that Leon was desperate. He was desperate enough to enlist the aid of his enemy.

"Why should I help you?" the blond mocked, but he would only be persuaded later on. His tough act would soon crumble at the mention of one name.

"Because Spencer has Sherry, and he has Rebecca trying to crack the code."

"Sherry?" Birkin's voice came out in a whisper and he now seemed gaunt and fear-stricken. He turned his back on Leon, something he never thought he would be able to do without a missile being fired at him. Despite how long ago it was, he could not find any bit of humor in that thought like he hoped he would. "I heard nothing for so long. No news from the outside. Just Spencer telling me to work on this and that, to make him better. To make him good as new… to make Wesker pay for betraying him… for betraying me."

Silence. Until Birkin seemed to throw away all effort of remaining calm. "FOR BETRAYING ME!" he yelled at the unmoving walls. Still, after all this time they refused to reply.

"I don't have time for your dramatics!" was Leon's reply to Birkin's breakdown. There would be no sympathy for him, not now when so much was at stake. "You give me an answer now on what you wanna do! Will you help me save Claire and your daughter or not? Will you help me kill Spencer?"

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There was a strange feeling around Claire. It was always so when she woke up next to Wesker. Whatever it was, it wasn't shame. She had gone way too far to be experiencing something like that. As her eyes drifted open she saw her captor -or whatever he was now to her- lying beside her, still holding her close.

Was she losing her mind finally? To sleep with this man after all the pain it caused her friends, she had to be under some sort of spell. No, it was Stockholm.

_Sure Claire, blame it on your predicament. The situation that you put yourself in_.

Why couldn't she just agree with herself? What happened to being able to control your thought? Well, she had all this free time, so other than thinking what else could she do? Feeling disgusting, she managed to pull away from Wesker, and get out of the bed. It only made sense that he would sleep so heavily, seeing as he never slept.

He looked normal like that, almost cute. If he could hear her thought he would probably kill her for that. Cute? Who could ever dare to call Wesker that word? A word like handsome, even beautiful better suited him.

He was like a grand statue, but he was too good to be true. When God made him he had to come up with a catch. Too bad there wasn't a warning label. Maybe at one time he was ok.

_Yeah, when Monette was alive_.

Before she made a scene by yelling at herself, she left the room, quietly closing the door. She knew Wesker probably sensed that she was gone, but since he only continued sleeping she assumed that he didn't care. She felt horrible; this was the real reason that she had come back. This was one unordinary journey of self-discovery. That was her life though.

It was just one big, twisted soap opera. If that were really true then she was sure that it would only be viewed for those who lived to criticize at every and any opportunity. What just happened wasn't right. That should have been Leon in that bed with her, or at least some guy that wasn't a psycho who was obsessed with power and pain. As she curled up in her bed she thought of her brother who was probably out there trying to find a way of getting her and keeping her.

If Wesker wanted, she would take Chris' place. She would take of the burden of battling Wesker all so that her brother could rest and live. He never had the chance to live his life how he wanted. Ever since their parents died he had to be the adult, he had to do what had to be done, not what he wanted to be done. In some way, Claire thought that maybe Chris kept fighting was because he hoped he wouldn't come back home one day.

Secretly, he probably wanted it all to end, for Wesker to stop playing games and do what they all knew he could do. The only thing Claire had accomplished was finding this new, almost raw side of her. The side that couldn't differentiate between what was right and what was wrong. She just knew how to want and to say, "Screw the world." This kind of world was enticing and yet she couldn't leave Chris behind.

"Please Chris, come," she whispered into the pillows. She was losing her old self bit by bit, and being pushed into the dark with her real self. The side that Wesker never denied, the side that wanted and took all.

A/N: I was gonna make it longer, but this computer has a virus and these pop-ups are getting annoying so I'll get to writing a new chapter soon hopefully. I hope you enjoyed this one. The update might not be tomorrow since we're playing our rivals again and Saturday I'll be at the State Fair so I hope to get back to this soon. I've got myself interested in what's gonna come from my mind next. Peace and review!


	13. Secrets

Disclaimer: I do not own RE. I do however own Marisol! …The fic is mine too!

_Can the truth really set you free_?

With Spencer, there was always a secret. Marisol was standing over one of them right now, looking quite interested. There was no denying her engrossment in the little black diary in her hands. She stared at the writing before her as if it were some sort of revelation; actually, it was a revelation. The contents of the book even kept her from noticing Sherry walk into the room, her duffle bag in hand.

"I'm ready," the little, blonde girl announced. Marisol could not even look at the girl right now; instead, she sat down on Spencer's bed, instantly receiving flashbacks of being there earlier. This time she did it because she wanted to, not because she was forced to do so. Sherry seemed to notice her discomfort, but only thought it was from the memory of being in that room. Little did Sherry know, the contents of the diary also had something to do with her demeanor.

"What do you know?" asked the woman, finally looking into the teenager's blue eyes. Not understanding the question, Sherry frowned and sat next to Marisol, dropping her bag to the brown carpet. "Do you even know?"

"Marisol, you're freaking me out," she said, giving a nervous look to the clone.

"We're even," she said back to the confused girl. "You're mother…"

"What are you…" she trailed off as Marisol held the diary up to her face.

"And they always wondered why you were so damn smart." When Marisol felt the diary being forced from her small hand, she knew that Sherry had seen it. It was the truth that had been hidden, the reason that Birkin held both pride and resentment in his heart for his daughter. "Your daddy didn't know what to think of you because he hated her. He hated that half of you."

"No," she whispered, standing and dropping the diary. "Then mom- Annette…"

"I wonder if Wesker knows," Marisol said to herself, knowing that Sherry did not want to hear anything. The only thing that she wanted to allow to penetrate her ears was, "It's a lie Sherry."

"Annette was your mom Sherry," Marisol whispered. As Marisol bent down to pick up the book, Sherry shook her head, her now long hair bouncing. "She was your mother."

"Not biologically!" she cried. Suddenly, she was being embraced by Marisol and tears escaped her eyes. Sobs wracked her body and she could feel Marisol stroking her hair, shushing her.

"A woman carrying a child for nine months is as real as it gets!" she cried into the blonde's ears. Minutes flew by and with each passing second, Sherry grew tired. She was tired of crying, tired of denying. When she was sure that the girl was calm, Marisol sat her down on the bed next to her. "For a woman to carry a child that isn't even hers takes… ovaries," she said, her attempt at a joke successful.

One last tear left Sherry's eye as she smiled at Marisol's comment. Footsteps. They were far away, but Marisol could hear them coming and she feared for Sherry more than herself.

"What's wrong?" Sherry had noticed the shock on her friend's face and now looked worried herself . Suddenly, Marisol hit the floor, stuffing away the diary into Sherry's duffle bag. "What is it?"

"Spencer's coming," whispered before standing and pulling two keys from her pocket. One was for her car, the remote on the key chain made that apparent. "Car," she whispered, handing it to her. "Leon's apartment," she said, giving the other key to her.

"What?" asked the blonde in a hushed voice.

"I know you can drive, you know right?" demanded the clone. Wasn't she going to go too?

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've read books-"

"Good. Once you get into the garage, find my car. The code to leave this Godforsaken place is 0294761-"

"What?"

"I put it in a note in my car in case you can't remember it. Once you get out of the garage, turn right and keep going in that direction until you get to the end of the docks where a man in all black will meet you. His name's Carter. Tell him I couldn't make it. He'll drive you to Colorado, to Leon. His apartment number's 357, okay?"

For a second Sherry looked confused, but managed a nod. The sound of the door creaking made them look, only to see Spencer standing there. It felt like they were in a horror movie, and they had been caught. Poor Sherry trembled in fear, but managed to slip the keys into her pocket without giving Spencer an opportunity to see her do so.

"Going somewhere ladies?" The two friends only stood there, trying to search for a reply, but nothing ever came to mind. "I asked you something!" he yelled at them, and they remembered how old he really was. His returned youth had of course masked the terror he once caused in others.

"I don't have to do what you tell me!" cried Sherry, and Spencer's eyes flew open. Had she realized the truth yet? No, that couldn't happen.

"No, but Marisol does," he answered, after he regained his calm composure. For a moment, a look of fear passed over brunette's face. She had decided to take the consequences in whatever form they would come; this was for Sherry. Her black hair bounced as she demonstrated her resistance to her creator. "What was that?" he taunted.

"I won't tell you a damn thing!" she spat at him. "_Nada de nada_."

"Ungrateful bitch!" he yelled, plunging at her. As Sherry jumped from his path, she saw Spencer grab a handful of Marisol's waist-length hair. "Go back to your room Miss Birkin!" he growled. After glancing into Marisol's eyes, Sherry knew where she was to go. The thirteen-year-old ran as fast as her legs would take her.

So what if the cameras caught her, she would be long gone by the time the guards came back to check them. Enraged, Spencer threw Marisol onto his bed and went to slam his door. "Where were you taking her?" he demanded, watching her back away on her elbows.

"Nowhere," she whimpered. He was unconvinced. As their eyes locked, she noticed something about him. He was changing.

"So is this what you make me look like?" came her voice, no, it was Monette. Spencer knew how to present every characteristic of Wesker's ex-wife in the most eerie way. "You make me look like I'm a liar? After I worked so hard to clear my name. No wonder no one will ever love you. You even seem to be changing Spencer's mind about you. The only man that ever loved you."

"That's why even I won't take you," said Wesker.

"You're not Wesker!' she yelled at Spencer's mind games. "You could never be him!"

"You're right, I couldn't," came Leon's voice. "It's not in me. Neither is it in me to love someone like you."

"Leon," she whispered, and a sadistic smirk crossed Leon's face. Or was it Spencer's face? Knowing he had struck a nerve, Spencer neared her, discarding his false identities, returning to his own self.

"So that's it? It's Leon?" Her face gave her away, and she could feel Spencer's hand on her wrist, squeezing tightly. "Do you love him?" Quickly shaking her head, she tried to pull away from his vice grip.

"I don't love him," she whispered. Not believing her, Spencer grabbed her by her throat and began squeezing as hard as he could.

"Even so, you tried to betray me. You know what that means." Abruptly, he released her, and she began coughing. As she held her red throat, Spencer stood and walked away a bit, signaling her to stand. Tears sprung to her eyes as she stepped up to him, and he turned quickly, delivering a blow to her face. It seemed that she was getting this kind of beating a lot lately.

For Sherry, she would take it. For Sherry, she would even lose her life.

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"Hello?" Jill, looked around the large bedroom, searching for her friend, while Billy even went as far as to search under the bed. "Rebecca? It's Jill honey."

"Jill," whispered Barry, holding his hand up to silence his friends. "Someone's in the closet." Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, he readied his gun while Jill crept to the French doors. Slowly, she counted to three and opened them quickly. Someone burst out of the closet, wailing and crying, Jill managed to capture the person in her arms. Amidst the tumult, Billy recognized the woman as Rebecca.

"Rebecca!" he cried, trying to calm her down.

"Oh my God," muttered a frightened Barry, putting his gun away and letting out a grateful sigh.

"What's going on?!" cried Chris, appearing at the door. Apparently, this gave Barry another fright for he was breathing hard, holding his chest. "Rebecca?" he asked, stepping towards them.

"Help me!" the young woman was crying repeatedly upon realizing that her friends were there to help her. They were actually there. Or was it another trick by Spencer?

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"I'm asking you again Birkin. Will you help?" Leon watched as Birkin turned back to face him, looking confused still. It was quite strange seeing him look this way. Normally he was the all-knowing person that got on everyone's nerves. Not today, right now he was at his lowest.

Once upon a time, he was being trained to become Spencer, but that's not what he wanted. Birkin only thirsted for the chance to become powerful by obtaining all the knowledge that he could. In some way, Leon thought that maybe he would end up doing right for the world. He just got so caught up in trying to understand everything laid out before him that he lost his own way.

"I will help you," he said, looking into Leon's eyes. "I just can't believe that you trust me."

"Something you need to realize is that none of us trust each other anymore and we've openly admitted that. Now, how do I get you outta here?"

--------A Day Later-------

After explaining to the gang why Birkin was with them and still alive, they had nothing to say about why he couldn't stay with Leon. Strange as it felt, it was something that had to be done. No one had slept since they returned from the labs, instead, they all sat in Leon's den trying to figure out a plan of action.

"Does Wesker know you're alive?" asked Chris, not believing that he was actually sitting there with his enemy's friend having a conversation.

"I don't think so," replied, clasping his hand together, looking down. It still had not hit them that this was all bound to happen. When evil has a common enemy with good, sometimes those who are different must come together to help one another. This situation only happened in comic book-based movies. Of course, their lives were more like a twisted game.

This was no game though, it was real life, and people were really getting hurt. "So, you are really the one who created Marisol?" asked Jill, curious of the work he was forced to do. A nod caused the room to grow dim, and Billy returned from the kitchen with a tray of coffee. Apparently, he panicked, bringing in way more coffee than needed. His hair looked a mess, but he wasn't alone with that issue.

As he set down the tray, he took his seat next to Rebecca who was still shaken. "Why wouldn't you tell Spencer about Sherry?" All eyes were on Birkin now. "Is that why he tortured you?" Rebecca's voice was shaky, as was the now nervous Birkin.

For them to trust him, he needed to tell them everything he knew, which wasn't much. Right now, helping them was more important than helping himself; they could keep Sherry safe. Birkin's mouth opened to say something, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Leon swiftly stood, in a rush for Birkin to continue. As he looked through the peephole, he hesitated, and the others noticed.

As the doorknob turned, everyone watched it all happen in slow motion. Who was it at this time of the morning? "Where is she?" asked a desperate and disheveled Marisol. She had obviously been through hell. They could only pray that she didn't bring it to them.

A/N: I made the details a bit choppy because it all seemed like it would be a waste of memory on the computer. I didn't want to bore everyone with the smallest details. I was going to write more, but all of this can't be revealed in one chapter. But if I get about three reviews today, then I will update today. So, for the anxious, either you review or hope someone else does. I take anonymous reviews too. (wink)


	14. Little Black Book Part I

Disclaimer: I do not own RE, but I own this fic and Marisol.

Leon stared at Marisol, a questioning look on his face. There was a bruise on her left cheek and he could see that she was hiding something underneath the black hoodie that she wore. Anxiously, she tapped her foot against the hard floor of the hallway. "Come on in," Leon said, allowing her to step into the view of the others.

Her eyes went over the faces of the room, but they fell upon one person that she couldn't look away from. "Birkin?" It was as though she didn't believe it was him, but Spencer. "Are you really Birkin?"

Leon walked over to her and gently took her arm. "It's him Marisol." Tears came to her eyes and they all realized that she was afraid.

"Coffee?" asked Billy, holding a cup to her. Everyone stared at him, and if this weren't as serious as it was then they may have laughed.

Shaking her head, she looked around, nervously and unnecessarily pulling her sleeves down. "Where is Sherry?" she asked, her voice breaking. Not understanding why she would ask him, Leon shook his head and tried to lead her to the couch. "No! Sherry!" she cried, easily pulling away from the brunet. Her heels made no sound on the carpet as she rushed to Leon's bedroom.

Upon opening the door, she collapsed at the sight before her. Sherry lied on the bed, asleep, unaware that Spencer was on a rampage. Well, it may have been over by now. It seemed that everyone had gathered behind her, but no one was as shocked as Birkin was. "Sherry?" he whispered.

Almost tripping, Marisol ran to the bed and began shaking the sleeping girl gently. Sherry's blue eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, a smile gracing her face. Leon's face appeared in her sight, and she sat up to see who else was there with her. "When did you get here?" asked Leon excited to see her.

"I dunno. You weren't here though," she replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Sherry?" came a familiar yet unfamiliar voice. Everyone moved out of Birkin's way so that he could see his daughter. It seemed as though she didn't know whether to smile or look away.

"Da- daddy?" she whimpered. Eyes glistening with tears, she got up from her friend's bed and ran to him. Leon seemed surprised as they hugged tightly, neither of them seeming to want to let go. He couldn't remember a time like this, but the circumstances changed everything. In this world, they were all they had.

After Birkin and Sherry finally let go, the room grew silent. Awkward stares were exchanged, and no one seemed to have anything to say. "Coffee?" asked the caffeine-driven Billy.

"Yeah," said a smiling Sherry. Everyone else agreed and left the room, leaving Leon and Marisol alone. The smile gone from her face, Marisol turned to leave, but Leon stopped her. Deciding not to resist, she watched him lock the door while she sat on his bed. Hesitantly, Leon sat beside her, not knowing if he wanted to be enlightened about her ordeal.

Biting his bottom lip, he moved her hair away from her throat, and was greeted by handprints. Whoever could do that to her was strong. Spencer. "I'm afraid of what's under that jacket," he said, giving a sigh. Knowing his was curious, Marisol pulled the hoodie up over her head, wincing a few times.

After allowing him to look at her arms, she removed her black tank top and now only sat in front of him in a black bra. Repressing the urge to embrace her, Leon stared down at every wound that Spencer had sadistically given her. Bite marks were abundant as were many bruises. An interesting scratch traveled down her stomach and disappeared under her jeans. "I did it for Sherry," she said out of nowhere.

"She escaped because of my sacrifice," she added. "They'll be gone in a few days." Marisol reached for her tank top, but Leon stopped her, looking worried.

With a frown on his face, he asked, "Why did he do this?"

Before answering, she ruffled her already messy hair. "He caught us trying to escape. I told him that I was coming to look for Sherry. It's the only reason I'm here-"

"What did he do to you?"

"The usual. He beat me… He raped me." At that, Leon grew angry. Out of Marisol and Spencer he knew Marisol was stronger, but she believed that she owed him. The only time she would fight back was when she was going to get rid of him and there would be no repercussions. Once again, tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to spill over.

At the feel of Leon's hand cupping her cheek, she looked into his eyes, seeing pity and another emotion that she didn't recognize. Their faces grew closer, and she could feel his breath against her lips. Gently, Leon kissed her, and he felt something within him stir. Painful as it was, Marisol pressed her body into his, wanting more than just his lips against hers. Having her consent to go further, Leon began kissing her harder with a hunger unknown to him.

Cautious of her wounds, Leon was careful in lying her down. Instead of on top of her, he lied down beside her, but it didn't stop him from massaging her thigh. Since she didn't object, he figured that he hadn't screwed up and touched a wound. Just as the room began to fade away, someone knocked at the door.

"Leon?" It was Barry. Getting themselves together, Leon and Marisol never even looked at each other. Only until they got to the door did they exchange stares, and they knew that Barry suspected something was going on behind that locked door. Once the door flew open, there stood Barry, looking expectant, but he seemed to have let it go.

"Sherry says that there's a diary…" Barry trailed off when he saw Marisol go to the duffle bag. Once she presented them with the black book they joined the others in the den, all eyes on them. The reason that Leon and Marisol were the center of attention was not because they had the book though. It felt like they were being judged by the world because of one moment that they were left unsupervised.

"I found this diary in Spencer's room," Marisol announced, staring at everyone in the room. A look from Sherry and Birkin told her what to do. Billy and Rebecca moved over to make room for Marisol and Leon. Everyone seemed to notice an intimacy about the two, and it only caused them to feel awkward. Only Sherry didn't seem to mind the idea of the two of them being together.

If two people that she cared about started caring about each other, it would be wonderful to witness it. Right now though, the truth was more important. All eyes were on Marisol as she found the entry, and read it verbatim.

"'Even after kidnapping Rebecca Chambers, we still could not figure out what was so special about Sherry Birkin. Her father is still refusing to give me the information that I desire. Whenever I mention the girl's name he feels the need to defend his reasons for treating her like an outcast. After claiming to love his wife, Annette, you would think that he would love the little piece of her in Sherry. Of course, after Annette gave birth to the baby I saw a great rift in between them.'"

"'Never had I seen them being affectionate. I don't even think that they kissed at the wedding, which I attended as I do all my favored employees weddings. After many cryptic and unbreakable messages that Birkin offered up, Chambers still couldn't figure out what made Sherry so special. We even went as far as killing the girl, and yes, she came back. Then we knew that she wasn't human.'"

"'We took blood tests, but she seemed so ordinary. Even after her death she showed no abnormalities. Then, something strange happened; doctors could not determine when she would experience her next menstrual cycle. Then, Chambers came up with a question that was worth finding the answer to. Chambers wanted to know if this extraordinary girl had any genetic altercations _before _birth, rather than after.'"

"'So, instead of keeping her blood in a safe, contained area, we decided to let it breath. Once placed on a petri dish, I witnessed something only Wesker got see up close: the blood caught flame.'"

For a moment, Marisol paused and looked up at Chris' face. Only Marisol, Chris, Birkin, Rebecca and Sherry understood. Instead of explaining this to them, Marisol continued on.

"'Getting a blood test would have been impossible because if this were so, we wouldn't have needed the disk. We don't need it now anyway. We have everything we need now. Her paternity was no longer in question. Annette was only a surrogate and Birkin held so much detest for his daughter because she was created out of duty… a need to outdo the girl's mother.'"

"'Alexia Ashford.'"

There was almost a soap-opera theme song playing, and no one was without a feeling of shock. "So, this _fucker_ right here," started Marisol, getting Birkin's attention, "pulled an Alexander. Am I right?" Both Birkins looked ashamed, but only one of them should have held such emotions. "It's why after Spencer claimed that he "cracked the code," he was running around, muttering like a mad man, 'That's why he went to Antarctica, that's why he went to Antarctica.'"

All eyes were on Birkin, and Sherry, loving her father as much as she did, stood by him. "I hated her, but when she actually called me saying that she needed help in testing the compatibility of her blood with the new virus, I couldn't pass it up." Before Alexia's staged death, Birkin made sure that all samples of her blood mixed with the virus were saved. No one ever suspected that he would use Annette as a surrogate, and use her undying love for him as a chance to be better than Alexia. "So I took a page out of Alexander's book, and it worked."

An incredulous smile made its way across Marisol's face, and she shook her head at Birkin. He was unbelievable. "So, this kid is just basically a way for you to spit in Alexia's face?!" demanded Marisol, standing up. "Wait a minute, I'm not gonna hurt him," she assured Leon, who was now holding her arm. Not believing her, he gave her a stern look, telling her that he wasn't letting her go as long as she was standing.

Leon already knew though that if Marisol wanted to hurt Birkin, she could have accomplished that task in half a second. Nothing could stop her from speaking her mind though. Nothing. "You used Annette and your marriage as a mean to implant a superhuman into her?"

"Yes," Birkin whispered, but Sherry gave him a reassuring look. "I have been alone and kicked while I'm down long enough to understand that what I did was wrong and to change. To get revenge on Spencer just like the rest of you want."

"But you still don't get it!" yelled the enraged brunette. "Why is it that you fucking scientists think that you can play God?! Do you know what I went through? Cramming languages and years of knowledge into my head?! Watching my sisters die wasn't enough! You are _not_ God! You will never be! _It is not a game._ The kid's gonna have this, and this, and this- NO! And now that Spencer doesn't need that disk that little girl is fucked! So y'all need to get off Wesker's ass, because he's no longer the enemy."

Things were starting to sink in. No one could object to anything that had just been said, and Chris found Marisol to be more like Monette than he thought. So now they needed to destroy the disk and protect Sherry. Suddenly, Marisol sat back down, and picked the diary back up, turning to the very first page. "Now, who's ready to hear the rest?"

A/N: Well, review!


	15. Childhood

A/N: I am so pissed! As I was typing this, an error report popped up so I have to type this shit again!

Disclaimer: The usual.

The room was quiet, and the outside world was cold. If the heater were not on then the bitter wind would have permeated the children's bedroom window. There was someone in the dark, moving around. A blond, blue-eyed adolescent awoke to the disturbance in his bed. Before he could utter a whimper, a hand covered his mouth.

Such an unpleasant memory, such and unwanted regime. The lamp by his bed was clicked on and now he saw that the intruder of his sleep was his seventeen-year-old sister. As she shushed him, he felt her blonde hair tickling his cheek. "Albert, it's me," she whispered to her little brother.

Once he trusted himself to speak in a hushed voice, he spoke. "Ally, what are you doing?" His sister's blue eyes were puffy from crying, obviously their father, Adam, had his usual meeting with her.

Ally looked anxious as she looked from the window to her brother. "I'm going away with Sam." Albert's world was crushed, and he felt like he could never survive. "I came to see if you wanted to come." At this, he forgot that he was supposed to be whispering.

With all the breath in his lungs, he said, "Yes!" The only sound in the house was caused by him, and he prayed that no one else heard it. "What about Jack?" he asked, looking at his sleeping brother in the bed to his right.

"Daddy knows that Jack's not his. Aunt Jean and Uncle Aaron are gonna adopt him. He'll be with his real dad," Ally assured her brother.

Still uneasy about leaving everyone behind, Albert tried to protest with, "But mom-"

"Mom doesn't give a damn about us. Sam's gonna marry me and I'm getting rid of the name Wesker." Albert knew that if he went with Ally that she and Sam would be his guardians and he could be safe from his father. Jack would probably take the maiden name of his dad's wife: Krauser. Before Aaron Wesker met his wife, Kara Wesker had an affair with her brother-in-law, which led to the birth of Jack.

Everyone in the neighborhood knew the truth, knew that the Wesker family was a mess. They had been nothing but trouble ever since they came from Germany. "We're leaving New York, going to a better place," Ally promised, only making her brother happier with each word. Anxiously, he nodded and jumped out of bed. Before he could choose what he needed to take, the lights flicked on.

The only sound that anyone could utter was a whimper. "Daddy."

"What's going on?" asked Jack, rubbing sleep from his eyes. They heard their father shout in German, but Albert and his siblings were to busy staring at his clenched fists. Slowly, blood trickled to the floor from between his fingers, and Ally took Albert in her arms.

"Run," she whispered to her little brother, and they took off. Just as he reached the door, he heard his sister cry out in pain. Unable to continue without her, Albert turned back to be met with the sight of his sister being pulled by her hair.

His voice low and dangerous, Adam said, "You're not going anywhere." Just as those words left his mouth, someone appeared next to Albert. It was his hero, Sam.

"Let Ally go! She and Wesker are coming with me! Jack too!" He shouted at the man who would become -much to his dismay- his father-in-law. Suddenly, Ally dropped to the ground and Sam rushed to her aid. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at a reluctant Jack. This was why she did not want to take him; he belonged with her aunt and uncle.

Adam's gaze was now on Albert, who felt like he had a decision to make. Of course, he had a decision to make. Should he stay here with his father, living a tough life? On the other hand, should he go with his sister to live a dead end life? Even Ally knew that there would be nothing in her future with Sam.

There would only be bills, babies, and arguing. Wesker would at least gain something from remaining with his parents. Also, despite the fact that his mother did not really care about his well-being, he had to stay for her. "Ally, I can't leave mom," he almost whispered. Through the tears, he saw that she understood, and she slowly went to him and embraced him.

"I'll keep in touch," she promised. It seemed like after Ally left, everything actually came into place for Albert. The name Wesker became a much more important name in the German ghettos. Albert Wesker was soon left alone with his mother and father when Aaron had enough of hearing Jack's stories. Soon after, Albert did not even want to be called Albert.

Wanting everyone around him to know who he was and what he went through, he only went by Wesker. No one ever dared to point at him and laugh as they had done before. No more "daddy jokes" were told and now the name was feared. The idea of teasing the young Wesker boy was not even appealing. Now, he had filled out, took on a more serious appearance, and worked his ass off in school for the chance to work for Umbrella.

Everyone who went to school with Wesker -having been nothing, but poor immigrant trash- knew what Umbrella did to people such as them. It was bold of him and yet stupid for him to even try to measure up to researcher status. He was a no one in the eyes of the powerful and ruthless men of the international dogs that ran such an unforgiving business. There was only one other boy who tried as hard- no, even harder than Wesker. That boy was William Birkin.

William had seemed to have a similar, yet more pleasant background than Wesker. Both of them grew up hating their names, but they later used them to their advantage. Those names were what kept them going, what made them want to try and keep going. Those names represented oppression and hopelessness. The names were their crosses to bear, and they later became symbols of greatness.

If you worked at Umbrella and did not know the names "Wesker," and "Birkin," then you were not supposed to be there. Prejudiced against because of their backgrounds, ages, and race, life was made more and more difficult for the youngsters. Luckily, they were not hardheaded teens who were big on revenge. There was plenty of time for them to be hateful once they had secured their futures. Wesker lied there in his bed, thinking about the past as he did every night.

It had become a habit. Reminiscing was now his favorite pastime. How was it that he was becoming so disgustingly… human. The word even disgusted him, but he had to remind himself that he had been human once before. Although, that had seemed so long ago.

There was such a long list of deaths. Where to even start? There was majority of S.T.A.R.S., his twins, his wife, Birkin… The though of Birkin made his mind stop spinning and it seemed to latch onto the memory of his colleague. It was over now with William, and yet for some strange reason he seemed to be thinking of him more and more.

It took him a while to realize, but where had Claire gone? Her presence hadn't even been missed. Maybe _she_ believed that she could turn Wesker into a human, but he was just using her for the very same reason that God planted man on this planet: procreation. There was no familiar feeling from Claire, none of the same emotions that Monette caused him to harbor for her. Despite the fact that there was something for her, there was nothing significant, and nothing to be considered a drastic change in his character.

Love was such a demeaning emotion, but he had felt it before and he could not lie about that. Never again did he wish to be left in such a pitiable state. Somehow, he had managed to dig deep and contain himself when he saw Marisol. That poor woman would probably be happier going on as a specter, unable to interact with others, just existing only partially in our own realm.

"I see you're awake." Looking up, Wesker's eyes met Claire's, unrestricted by his shades, they saw each other without any kind of widow between them. The eyes are supposedly the windows to the soul, but Claire didn't even want to know the things that Wesker had seen. The red-head leaned against the door pane, looking quite comfortable, perhaps to comfortable for where she was. Undoubtedly, she felt strange, standing there and speaking to him as thought they were neighbors in apartments.

Not much could be said, because if Wesker spoke to her he would feel as though he were betraying himself. For some time now, he had been struggling with discerning his emotions for his enemy's sister. Something was obviously wrong with him. "Do you require anything Ms. Redfield?" She seemed taken aback by his formalities.

How do you sleep with someone and then treat them like a dinner guest? Did Claire wish to be treated like more though? Both of them knew that after she slept with him she would only creep off to her room at night so that she could cry and question her actions over and over until sleep befell her. Whenever she left though, it seemed that he didn't even stir from the spot he had fallen asleep in. As much as he worked, it appeared that he appreciated rest more than anyone.

It may not have seemed like it, but Wesker was a busy person. His job took patience and concentration. It certainly took patience, his years spent at Umbrella were proof of that. "Why am I still alive?" she asked out of nowhere. After he raised an eyebrow inquisitively, she elaborated. "If you can't stand Chris or me then why won't you just kill me?"

Before answering, Wesker found his sunglasses and placed them back in their usual position above his nose. "What would the point be? How many times must I explain myself to you dear heart?"

"Well, is it just me or are the reasons changing and becoming more complicated?" Instead of answering, Wesker silently put on a black shirt and black pants, his usual attire. As he made his way downstairs, he noticed Claire following him closely. He could not have her questioning his motives, it just would not do. If she were as shallow-minded as her brother had been, then maybe she would have left well enough alone.

There was no telling what she would do if she found out that he was using her for the birth of his heir. Wesker didn't care if it was a boy or if it was a girl, as long as the child was of Wesker blood and carried none of the Redfield traits. The only thing he had to figure out was how to keep Chris away from his sister once they realized that she was with child. Would they dispose of the child, or just take Claire and the child away? Wesker did not want to have to permanently remove his child's mother from his life.

If there was anyone that he could feel empathy for, it was a mother. All his late wife wanted was their children, and his mother had been too psychologically screwed up to understand anything, and if Claire were to be cut from her child's life then there was no doubt that something would go wrong. Wesker believed in karma, but only for those who do things remorselessly and for the pleasure of having sweet revenge. For the sake of his sanity and that of his child, he would allow Claire to stay with him, but also because he knew that she would not want to leave.

Everyday it became more and more clear that she was stuck there with him, and she remain there despite the voices of her conscience ringing out and protesting against her choice. From here on out, Wesker could see that she was like a fly, or better yet, like a little child.

A/N: Finally! Well, I'm tired so PLEASE review as soon as you can or whatever cause I know that y'all won't review anyway. I'm happy with two reviews, as long as I know someone's following along with the story. Well, loves ya lots peeps!


	16. Little Black Book Part II

A/N: Too bad I can't find the paper that I wrote the beginning of this chapter on. Well, do-overs are always my best work. So sorry for the looooong wait, but I've had and still have writer's block. But I gotta try right? Also, I'm a confused, emotional wreck. My boyfriend of almost 4 months has been living with another woman for 6 fuckin months and now he's playing that, "Baby, I'm sorry," role. I think inside I knew… and when I go off to find myself a husband in Merry Old England, letting him go will be so much easier! She's cool, I'm glad I met a reasonable woman. So ladies, when or if this happens to you, don't go crazy on the woman… go crazy on his ass like us. It's time for revenge though, if he wants to stay… ok, but when you fuck with a Criolla, you get fucked. Well, I tell y'all my business mostly because y'all read things from me, and that's as personal as you can get. Isn't my life like a crazy-ass soap opera? Well, finally… here's the chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil, but I do own Marisol, Monette, and this fic.

Leon heard the faucet of Billy and Rebecca's bathroom turn off, and he stood in front of the door awaiting its occupant to exit. The only way that she would speak to him would be if he cleverly intercepted her, and that was exactly what he was doing. The door opened, and Marisol exited with a towel draped around her, her hair completely wet. She had gotten bored and decided to dye her hair even blacker, if that was possible. Now it had the blue highlight in it that she had been trying to get.

After deciding that Leon's apartment was too small for nine people to stay in for even a few hours, they all left and went to Chris' place, all anxious to finish reading Spencer's diary of secrets. Finding his voice, his eyes could not leave the woman before him. "We need to talk."

Walking away, she pretended that she didn't know what he was talking about. "About what?"

"We kissed Marisol." Those words held her there, and Leon didn't even have to lift a finger. "And it would have gone farther if Barry hadn't interrupted." Unable to deny anything or leave Leon there without an explanation, she walked over to Billy and Rebecca's bed with him and sat next to him.

For the first time in her life, she couldn't look someone in the eye. "It's best that you forget about that. Just pretend that it never happened." Her words were cold and without feeling, so it was impossible to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. After all, Marisol was an expert at lying; it was her job. At the moment, Leon felt stupid.

He knew that there was no way that they could have a relationship together. Well, the idea was viable if and only if they killed Spencer. Would that solve the problem though? What would Wesker feel about one of his enemies being with his dead wife's clone? Wait, where was this even coming from?

Before she showed up at his apartment last night, Leon had never even entertained the idea of being with Marisol in that sense. Deciding to act on these new emotions that had sprung to life within him, he looked down at her hands, seeing how nervous she was. "Something was there Marisol, and it wasn't just a spur of the moment thing based on 'getting some'." A tear fell onto her hand and the brunet noticed it. "Why won't you just admit-?"

"Because he'll kill you!" she shouted. "He… will… kill… you. And he'll do it remorselessly, without a thought. He thinks that I'm in love with you so don't dig your grave any further." Instead of saying what was on his mind, Leon allowed her to stand and walk towards the door, but before exiting, she looked back at him. "I would like to go home with you tonight."

With that, she left Leon with a smile on his face, and his heart beating faster than it ever had.

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So badly, Chris wanted to take the black book and read it without the others, but he couldn't do that. Everyone wanted to hear it at the same time. What exactly was more important than the information already obtained from Spencer's little book of secrets? While he pondered that for a moment, he could hear the sound of Marisol's boots on the stairs. There was nervousness about her.

Gone were her dominant attitude and her ways of independence. Chris never thought that he would see the day that even a creature only resembling Monette would ever become submissive. She was nothing more than a house pet to Spencer, and even though he was at odds with Wesker, Chris felt sympathy for him. If someone were to do to Jill and Claire what had been done to Monette, he wouldn't be able to live. Of course, he had no idea what to expect when next saw Claire.

It may have been in a coffin, or he may never even get to see her corpse. That of course depended on the mood of his old Captain. Still, he could not help but think of him that way. There was nothing else he could call him other than a liar, a traitor, and other obscene titles. In the kitchen, Billy and Rebecca fought over how much coffee Billy had been drinking, and Sherry was telling Birkin everything that had come to pass.

It seemed so strange that the man who was partly responsible for the destruction of Raccoon City was sitting in Chris Redfield's home, having a conversation with a daughter that he barely knew. Looking tired and afraid, Marisol sat on the couch opposite of him and a minute later, Leon sat beside her, at first close and then he moved over a bit. Even Chris knew what that meant: there was something going on with them, romantically. Too lost in thought, Chris failed to notice the others had gathered in the den, looking at the diary, rather than the woman who was reading it. Her mouth opened, but Marisol could not speak, instead, Leon took the book from her hands, looking at her with sympathy.

They were reading the diary from the beginning. Leon had announced that the diary had started when Wesker and Monette moved to New York and a sickened expression crossed his face. "She was young," he began, the look of disgust still on his face, "but not too young."

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Gray haired, on a cane, and terribly sick, Spencer stared at one his best employees with loathing and envy. On Wesker's arm was his new wife, who was everything that Spencer once was. Young, carefree, and simply a delightful sight. Once he was handsome and feared, but now he was a joke whose respect was slowly withering away, just as he was. Why did he even bother with trying to go on living?

In the end, would the pain all be worth it? How many more years could he hold onto the shell that was aging day by day? Wesker was saying something, undoubtedly kissing his ass, but Spencer's eyes remained on the one thing that could now be used against Wesker. It was no secret that he was being disloyal, that he was trying to steal away everything that Spencer himself stole. He had killed so many allies to get this far, and now he feared that he had taught his student too much.

A lie was about to slip through his old, thin lips. "I am very happy for you Albert." He placed a hand on his employee's shoulder, nothing sincere in the intended encouraging squeeze. It was evil and nothing in his thoughts mirrored what he wanted for Wesker to think. He was supposed to be dead.

That was the reason he sent the lucky bastard to South America; to die in the war. He had specifically told the Americans to get rid of him, he had even bargained with the rebels to get Wesker out of his hair. Instead, he met a rebel with reverence for soldiers, a lonely woman that betrayed her employer. Wesker had stepped away to get Spencer a drink and then, his wife's friendly façade disappeared. Nothing but hatred could be felt for this woman.

"Traitorous bitch," Spencer seethed. Knowing that she had much to fear from him, she hugged herself, giving herself comfort in her own strength. "You were supposed to kill him," he whispered to the small woman.

She gave a defiant look and scoffed. "He asked me to marry him. He helped me a lot. Was I supposed to strangle him in our marriage bed? And now you move me here to torture me?" She was now considered trouble, and she may have denied it, but she was truly in love with Wesker. "I can't do it-"

"'Won't,' you mean!" At the sound of Wesker's shoes returning to the den, Marisol took a step back and gained her composure before turning to her husband and giving him a sweet smile. Spencer stared down at the drink being offered to him and looked Wesker in the eyes. "No thank you, I must take my leave," he said, adjusting himself on his cane. Nothing angered him more than disobedience, and he would be damned if he let immigrant trash like Monette ruin his future.

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From the way he wrote, it was obvious that the old man had a sick lust for the young woman. He also felt a hatred for her, and betrayed by her. What was it about Wesker that made her risk her life for him? Did he even know about her relationship with Spencer? Leon knew all too well the consequences of turning your back on Spencer. There was more in the entry about his obsession.

Everything that Wesker had, Spencer wanted. He had gotten the youth, the company, and even in a way his wife. It seemed that after hearing this entry, no one wanted to add a comment. Of course, Birkin knew Spencer, but Leon would not force him to remember the man who kept him prisoner. Not the man who held him captive and forced him to make everyone's life a living hell… even his own.

Rebecca stared down at her fingers, intertwined with Billy's, thought clear on both of their faces. This was why they would not peruse through the diary, but read it through; if they saw what this all led up to, the recovery would take longer. Chris knew the real reason that they weren't in a rush to get Claire back; if they did, whatever they find out about her might make them all turn their backs on her. Claire had been in Wesker's bed twice, probably more times than that now. As a cop, Chris had to know how to tell himself the truth.

Or would Claire be hurt upon returning? A future seemed inevitable for Marisol and Leon, and Chris would be busy building a life with Jill. Rebecca and Billy would find a way to start a new life together, and then Claire would be left alone. There was no doubt that Birkin would take Sherry and try to be a father, living the mundane human life. Selfishness aside, Chris had to admit that there was nothing left there for Claire.

Jill was right. There were no words of jealousy, but truth. Stockholm syndrome was a nasty affliction that never seemed to fail on the best of people. It was time to let Claire go though. Sherry was now the number one subject and had to be taken care of.

Now Chris understood the meaning of, "You always hurt the one you love." He was going to be the cause of Claire's death, and there was nothing that he could do about it. So that was it, the end of his problem with her. Right then and there, he gave up.

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It was raining again, and the usual gray sky accompanied it. The weather was as bleak as Wesker's home. It wasn't even that, it was just a house. Just a place where he could come to relax, or as Claire put it, "To hide from everyone that wanted him dead." Somehow, she felt like she was betrayed by herself.

The feelings that she had began to harbor for Wesker were forbidden and wrong on so many levels. There was nothing there in his heart for her though. If he cared for her, he wouldn't have caused her so much pain and grief. Her eyes wandered to the drenched trees that swayed in the distance, being pushed by the strong wind. Maybe Claire was one of those people who would never be loved, one of those people who were destined to become emotionally numb.

She was just in Chris' way of having a somewhat normal life. She was the reason that Jill was as resentful of her as she was. There was no denying that she had complicated everyone's lives. Some nights, she even felt responsible for the death of Wesker's late wife. If Claire didn't become nosey, then she would still be in that coma, but alive.

Now, if she went back home, Leon still wouldn't want anything to do with her, because her leaving on her own accord was worse than him working for Umbrella. Whether or not it was for Sherry, she still betrayed them, and made Chris worry about her. So, at the end of the day, she was still the enemy. Wesker wasn't the one that everyone was worried about, it was her. A tear streamed down her cheek suddenly, and she felt it fall onto her jeans.

All she could do was think about having sex with Wesker. It was no longer considered a mistake; it happened more than twice. Was she desperate to feel loved or needed? Sure, it felt like it, but she knew that there were no feelings, no emotion. He just wanted what every other guy wanted, or claimed they needed.

Or was it something more? He didn't seem to be holding back taking her at all ever since she got infected. He couldn't be trying to… No. Anything but that.

Feeling his presence, she turned in the chair to look at him, eyes glistening with tears, her chest rising visibly. "You're using me to have a child!" she accused. As he always did when he was accused, he stood there defiantly, and beyond the shades it as evident that this was true. Despite the rage she felt and the hatred she had for him… what was she going to do about it?

A/N: Whooooooo! I think I'm just gonna keep writing. Writing like I've never written before! It's time to wrap this fic up and do the sequel… and then do a much better Claire/Wesker story. I promise, the next Claire/Wesker is gonna be dark, chock full of plot, there will be more Ada (I hate her) and other people I cannot stand, but have to put in here for it to make sense! Review, and pray for the well-being of my boyfriend or what the hell he is to me cause I don't care and I feel extra-fuckin good, but I'm kickin' the shit outta him when school's back in! Amazing… I WANT the break to be over. Oh… review! … I hate this chapter…


	17. Insanity

A/N: I said… "Might as well."

Disclaimer: I do not own RE, but I do own Marisol, Monette, and this fic.

Unwavering, Wesker stood before Claire. He rarely offered mercy, but mercy in this case would be telling her what was contrary to her new realization. "There are more important matters at hand, Ms. Redfield." Back to Ms. Redfield. No matter how serious he looked at that moment, she could not let it go.

Why was she surprised? For what other reason would he want to be with her? There was nothing in her that he would find appealing. Why was she putting herself down in the sake of a man that deserved to rot in hell? Maybe it was too late for her to leave.

Looking back to that day in the cabin, she remembered a feeling of foreboding, an ominous feeling that lingered in the air. Being a woman who believed in women's intuition, she never listened to it. That was how it was with all women. She thought it was the paranoia that came with being a survivor of Raccoon City, Rockfort Island, and the infamous -infamous in tiny, corporate circles- the T-Virus. Always, after survival there was a deep grief that would be forever felt, always reminding you that even though you made it, it still happened to you.

Seeing that he really was serious, she allowed him to say whatever he was intent on saying. "Marisol has contacted me." There was that ominous feeling again, so there was bad news coming. Wait, why did he seem so calm about that? Wasn't he going to threaten them about the disk?

The disk- it had been so long since Claire had even thought of that. Something must have happened to it then. Wesker continued, "Apparently, the young Ms. Birkin is in their custody." A smile was on Claire's face at hearing this, but something in his voice said that he wasn't finished. "As is Dr. Birkin."

In that instant, her world was shattered into pieces, but Wesker didn't seem to care all that much; he just kept on talking, she supposed, to make her feel that she was insignificant to him. "Marisol says that they've read a diary of Spencer's. Sherry is Alexia's." Unable to speak, Claire only moved her mouth, no sounds coming out. "She said that she'd contact us as soon as possible after they read more of it. But tonight they will rest, seeing as Billy has lost his mind." Claire caught a bit of humor in his voice, but any trace of that emotion was gone just as soon as it appeared.

"Wow, so now Marisol's living there too huh?" Claire asked, trying not to focus on what Wesker just told her.

"She's staying with your dear friend, Leon." Her heart sank like the Titanic at those words. How could God permit so much heartache in one day? Even though she hadn't been the most devout follower, she tried to do right; getting rid of Umbrella should her gained her points. "A problem?"

Instead of pouring her heart into a coffee mug to him, she lied. "No." A simple answer was sure to attract attention, but by now, Claire understood that Wesker didn't care about her feelings at all. All he cared about was the potential life inside her. "For a man who is confident in his immortality, you sure seem worried about your legacy."

Her smug remark was not met with bodily harm, but instead, a smug smile. Now that he had secured what he needed, nothing could trip Wesker up. Without saying a word to her, he left the room, leaving her alone with nothing but the sound of the rain and wind against the window. Overtaken by grief, more tears spilled over her eyelids, and she furiously pulled at her hair, finding little comfort in the release of endorphins.

A wail left her, and her body fell to the floor, agony sweeping throughout her. Leon was moving on, and Sherry was the child of two people who had hurt her more than anyone. Birkin destroyed her brother's home and made everyone's lives an inferno. Alexia killed Steve; the one person that she could ever say that she trusted, and maybe even loved other than Chris. The words, "Oh, God why?" sprung from her mouth, over and over again.

The floor seemed to be spinning beneath her, and she couldn't stand. She could only lie there, praying that soon the world would just fade away. A sharp pain could be felt in her stomach, but it was nothing compared to the emotional pain she felt. Her stomach cramped unbearably, and she squeezed her thighs together, trying not to concentrate on it. Soon, the pain of learning about Leon and Sherry became an insignificant matter, and all she could think was, "I'm dying."

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Staring down at her, Wesker forced himself to believe that she was nothing but expendable. Claire would bear his child, and that would be all. There was no denying that the girl was beautiful, but nothing about her could make him fall for her. She was loud, obnoxious, and didn't know her place.

_Oh yeah, Monette was never any of those things_!

Scowling at the though, he checked Claire's pulse, finding it to be steady and normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary, for the time being. Wesker remembered suffering the same thing, but it wasn't as bad. Claire was suffering from abdomen cramps, so obviously things were going right. All Wesker needed now was proof that she was pregnant, and that was exactly what he was waiting for.

If she woke up and found herself in this room, she would surely throw a fit. It was like the basement, but was a much more lifeless version of it, if that were possible. The only reason it was so was because it was used for experiments and lab work. Wesker stared down at the paper that had just exited the printer and nodded, he was right. Even though he could tell without it, this was something Wesker didn't want to screw up on.

Claire was pregnant, and there was no need to make sure it was his. Of course it was. Letting her know about it would be the biggest mistake he could make. She was in such a fragile state; there was no telling what she would do. In despair, she might try to get rid of it; she might even try to kill herself.

Of course, the only person he really didn't want to know was Spencer. Just as he treated Sherry, he would take the child and treat it like an experiment. Even though this life barely existed, Wesker felt fatherly instinct, and no matter how disgustingly human it was, he had to take care of his own. Spencer was the only man that made him admit his fear: dying. No one would even dare conjure up the idea of Wesker fearing death; it was simply unimaginable.

Then again, how was one to explain his desperate shot at gaining immortality? He could have died and stayed dead that night in the labs, but he was desperate enough to take that chance. Or was he just crazy? Now that was a question that lingered in the air forever, and it may always remain unanswered.

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"Jill?" Chris had been unable to sleep that night; the only thing on his mind was his new decision to give up on his baby sister. Jill didn't stir, but he knew she heard him. He had disturbed her five times already about the issue. Deciding to let her sleep, he rolled over on his side, staring at the red, digital numbers. 12:07.

God, how did someone's life get so out of order? Jill had tried to tell him not to give up, even though he could hear the pain in her voice. Claire had put her through enough, and now she should not have to suffer for the mistakes of another grown woman. Chris shouldn't have to either. His situation was so similar and yet so different from the problems of the people he saw coming to the jail to visit their loved ones who were addicts.

That's what Claire was, an addict to danger and people like Wesker. A nasty thought indeed, but what else could he call it? Sherry was safe now, so if she didn't try to escape, then Chris knew the truth; his sister really was lost to his worst enemy.

In the room down the hall, Billy sat up on the side of the bed, staring at the rain that was running down the window. It was raining everywhere. It always seemed that way when Umbrella was involved. He could feel Rebecca breathing deeply behind him. Rain like that brought back memories of the war he was in.

Because of that war, he was a wanted man forever. They may have gone undetected, but Billy felt it was right to always be prepared for the worst. How much longer could he live a life of solitude with the woman that he loved? Maybe a few more months, but he doubted that it would be long enough for him to see the birth of his child. That's all he needed.

He didn't even know how it happened. One day, she was just pregnant, and he knew that he had a part in it, but it seemed irresponsible of him to subject Rebecca to a life of running and looking over her shoulder. She was already dealing with that from Umbrella, now from the Government too.

_I should have died_.

And yet he didn't. Billy Coen was still at large, still a threat to both his old squad leader and Umbrella. Still, he couldn't help but laugh at it all. The coffee's effect was starting to wear off, and he could feel exhaustion setting in. It was for the best; spare time was nothing but time that let you think, and so much time of thinking only made you think of how different life is than you pictured it would be.

Everyone wanted perfection, strived for it, but in the quest for it all that was ever gained was insanity. Wesker and Birkin were great examples of that, and there were casualties such wars, as Billy knew from personal experience. Chris, Jill, Barry, Rebecca, himself, and let's not forget Leon. No one was unaffected, and no one would come out unscathed.

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The whole night, Marisol sat in the armchair in Leon's den, too afraid to go to his room. The first time she was in there, she got lucky, but this time there was no one to stop her from making a mistake. And this would be a mistake that caused Leon to lose his life. Eyes still on the window, she heard him walk into the room, but did not acknowledge him. Abruptly, he broke her trance with the rain by stepping in front of her, his abs now the only thing in her view.

Unexpectedly, he pulled her up from the chair and sat in it himself, and sat her on his lap. He draped the blanket he brought with him over them, knowing that Marisol was cold; all she wore was a black tee and black boy cut underwear. His hand rested on her hip, and he felt her reluctance to remain there. After a mental battle, she gave in and relaxed. The sound of his heart beating caught her interest; it mesmerized her since hers only beat periodically.

Death was what she was, what she caused. Leon flinched at the feel of her cold hand on his chest, but he didn't mind since the whole point of him going to her was to warm her up. Well, it was one of the points. At first, she hated him just as much as he hated her, but he was the only man in her life who treated her… human. If she was ever human, she wasn't anymore.

When Spencer "rewarded" her survival skills, that one thing to be grateful for was gone. She would have rather died now than be sitting here and leading such a sweet man to his death. First Ada, now her. His appetite for dangerous women was never satisfied, just as Marisol's hunger for love and acceptance never was. Lifting her head, she met Leon's stare, and felt what she assumed to be butterflies.

She only had that feeling once and that experience happened with him also. First, they were just staring, and then they were kissing. Once again, she tried to tell herself to stop, that she didn't deserve his compassion or whatever he was feeling for her. His hand had crept between her thighs and he smiled into the kiss. Thankfully, Marisol's phone vibrated, and she pulled away from him to pick it up from the table.

The forced formality of her voice gave it away that it was Spencer. "Hello. No sir. Yes sir." For a second, she looked hesitant, as though she wanted to cry. "I love you too." Once she flipped the phone closed, she sat on the loveseat, afraid that what she just said might have changed Leon's view on her.

"You should get some sleep," she said, looking at him without the passion that once resided in her eyes. He stood slowly, showing that he was not bothered at all by what she had just told Spencer, because he knew that it wasn't true. Spencer didn't love her either. Well, he didn't love her the way that sane people love. If he loved her, then he wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't force himself upon her.

He just wanted her to know that that was not how love was. It was all she knew about it though. She was taught that he was the only one who could ever care for, that love meant that someone was crazy enough to hurt you for your benefit. Just as he stood to leave, Marisol jumped to her feet a fearful look on her face. "Can I come too?"

Like they were teenagers, Leon gently took her hand and led her to his room. Even though they didn't need to, he shut the door, locking it behind them just in case Chris and the others came by. Right now, he really wished they didn't have a key to his home. But there was no shame in what he was about to do, so they could know, and he wouldn't care because he would have her.

A/N: Awe. I never even planned for them to be together because I'm not even a Leon fan. I had to find some way to drive Claire crazier though, and you can't deny that with Marisol's meltdown going on, there was some serious chemistry happening with them. It was bound to happen… just like my situation- no… that was NBC material! Maybe I should take a page out of New York and Tila Tequila's book. "I Love Brienne" or "A Shot at Love With B.E.L." Yeah… Well, anyway, I stayed up getting my groove back, so click that little button and show me some love by reviewing! Merry Late Christmas and Happy New Year!


	18. Goodbye

A/N: Writing these chapters is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Thank you Illise and Hobohunter for the reviews. What can I say, there's no inspiration for me to do anything in the Inuyasha fic I wrote and right now, I just feel like Marisol when she's dealing with Spencer. The feelings that she's having towards Spencer are the feelings that I'm having.

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, but I own Marisol and this fic… and Monette's memory.

_Love is patient, love is kind.  
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,  
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves_. _  
_  
Corinthians 13:4-7

3:45 AM

"Heeellllp! Somebody please!" Darkness surrounded her, and she could not feel the presence of any others. Her small body hung upside down, and her arms began to feel numb. Normally, she could see in the dark just as in the light, but something was wrong, and she knew what it was. She was human again.

"Marisol?" came a calmer voice, but she knew that he was just as worried as she was. Suddenly, a light flicked on, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw Leon dangling a few feet away from her. Trying to see who did this to them, she arched her back and managed to see the face of Wesker. Even without her Tyrant strength, she knew who it really was.

Her voice was laced with rage and fear as she demanded, "Why are you doing this Spencer?!" A sick chuckle left him as he regained his original form and he neared them.

"WHY?" he echoed her, his smirk leaving him, replaced by a scowl of disappointment. "You think I didn't know that you were helping them? And to sleep with Romeo here… why that's too low Marisol, or are you trying to be Monette?" Leon's eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at Spencer, having nothing for him but disgust and loathing.

Leon's voice broke the silence that had fallen upon them. "So you take everything out on her because you wanted Monette?" Spencer did not deny the accusation, he only stood there, not having anything to say in his defense. If he couldn't lie, then he would stay silent, or maybe he just couldn't deny someone like Monette. This woman was the root of all the problems.

Marisol tried to pop her shoulder back into place, but it was difficult seeing as her arms were tied behind her back. Now able to feel pain, she felt completely weak, and feared that she would die from being in a way, crucified. Spencer was cruel enough to do so. He always made fun of her attempts to understand the Bible. Was this his way of sending her on to her death?

Or would she even die? Could she? Death sounded better than hanging there and having to watch Leon suffer. She turned to him, needing to see his face and when he saw her looking, he gave a nod of reassurance.

Spencer's voice interrupted them. "Don't worry, you two won't die… yet. You have to watch your friends die." That was worse than anything, and it was the reason that Marisol never tried to make friends. Until now, she didn't even consider them her friends, but something had changed during her time with them. They showed her compassion and treated her as an equal, and not like a tool.

No, that is what Spencer used her as. Kicking her down kept him happy, but he was never concerned with her own joy. "I need Sherry," Spencer announced.

"No, you just _want_ her," retorted Leon. For his comment, Spencer pressed a button on the wall, causing both of his captives to fall to the floor. They landed on their shoulders and grunted.

"I just fixed that!" yelled Marisol, her attitude returning. She seemed more like the woman she was when Leon first met her. Perhaps that was her fighting demeanor, but there was no use in trying to fight him right now. "Give them back!" Not knowing what she meant, Leon furrowed his brow.

"What's wrong?" taunted the older man. "You can be with a human, but you don't like being one? It's alright, Wesker didn't enjoy it either. It'll wear off. I gave you a much lower dose."

"Te odio," she seethed. Memories of her in bed with Leon played in her head and she remembered something. Did she infect him? So, if he died at the hand of Spencer then he wouldn't stay dead. Although, being what she was, was no sweet escape for death.

During her short time on this earth, she actually prayed for it. Being here and not being the same as everyone else would make one go mad. Spencer. Her time with him was heartbreaking, and saddening. Brainwashing was his way of keeping her under his thumb and making her believe everything that he ever said to her.

She knew and understood that love hurt, but not intentionally. It was not a painful thing that was based on a lie that kept on going on and on to keep you nailed to that one spot. Love was not greed and envy. Love was what happened between her and Leon. Love was unconditional.

Love could never be felt by Spencer.

Inside, she felt a rush of blood pumping through her veins and knew that it meant it was time to fight. Anger and realization had reawakened her strength, and now Spencer would never own her again.

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1:42 AM

Circumstances prompted him to do it and Wesker knew that it was the truth. Chris had just called him, saying that Leon and Marisol were missing. It did not take a second to know who was responsible for their sudden disappearance. Wesker's back was turned to Claire, he could not even look at her. How was he to leave without her knowing?

He had to go, but what for? The disk was destroyed according to Redfield, and now the only remaining sample of the T- Veronica Virus was in Sherry. Steve's virus was worthless as he had become an uncontrollable beast. Well, that didn't matter, he was dead and all that was left was a corpse in the labs of HCF. Speaking of the Organization, Ada had been absent for a while, but Wesker would not question why.

She was their dog, and they would most certainly become suspicious if he continued to use her as if he owned her. The last time he saw her, she was ranting about Monette still being alive. It was wise that she stayed away; she knew that she was into something bigger than the Organization could even fathom. Now he had to cooperate with his biggest enemies. Mere humans that continued to elude death and mock everything that Wesker stood for.

So why was he doing this? Birkin would never allow him to take Sherry away from them. They were on their way to Canada or something right now anyway. Defeating Spencer would be a good excuse to go, and to save Marisol. He owed her that much, if anything.

Ever since he brought Claire into his home he had become nothing more than a neutered Tyrant. Where did the Wesker go that would rip your throat out for looking at him in the wrong way? Claire had obviously done this to him. Humanized him so that she could get a couple of laughs before her imminent death. No, there was something more going on. Chris said to bring him Claire, and if he did then they would settle things finally.

The usual promise of the other's demise no longer held the appeal that Wesker once saw. Things had changed without a doubt, and his house had become a home for the sleeping woman behind him. She spent most of her time in his bed, near him, or talking to him. This was the first time he was able to think in a long time, and the results would be preposterous. There was a fondness for her that he felt, an attachment to her person.

And soon, her brother might just luck out and end up taking both her and their baby with him. No. Wesker had to come up with a plan to keep them from taking Claire. He knew that Chris would not die at his hand in this battle, so he had no choice but to play just as dirty as he did. He would cheat the Redfield luck this time, and be the one who doesn't go away empty-handed.

Claire stirred behind him, and he turned to see her eyes flutter open. Her voice was weak and she looked disoriented. "What happened?"

"We have to get Leon and Marisol." That was all she needed to hear from him. If Leon were in trouble, then she would be there for him in a second. Marisol was also someone she would go for; she saved Sherry's life, or at least, that is what she heard when Wesker was interrogating Chris on the phone.

"Are you letting me go?" she asked, a bit of fear in her voice. She played the "homecoming" scene repeatedly in her head and it never seemed to play out right. Slowly, he turned his body to her and leaned forward to where their lips almost touched.

"No."

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4:05AM

"You can't kill me." Spencer's voice was defiant and sure, as if he had already won the whole thing. "You would also be wasting your time; Sherry and her father have been apprehended. Seems like they were on their way to Canada." Without a warning or any sign, Marisol ran at him, managing to land a punch across his cheek. In an instance, she was in the air, her neck being gripped tightly.

Somehow, she was falling, and then she realized that Leon was attacking him. Even though he was doing quite well for a human, Spencer had now flung him across the room as if he were a rag doll. "I'll see you in hell Marisol," seethed the man that she once called master. Just as he reached for his knife, she somehow took it from his pocket first and violently jabbed it into his abdomen.

His breaths came out jaggedly and forced, but she whispered something loud enough for him to hear it. "Well, you'll be waiting, 'cause I've got eternity to live." She felt like a huge burden was now off her shoulders. Proud of herself, she turned to Leon, a smile on her face. The gesture was not returned, causing her to frown in confusion.

Upon turning, she saw Spencer wipe the blade on his shirt, and in slow motion it landed in her neck. "I love you," he said mockingly, and watched her fall to the floor. His eyes landed on a horrified Leon as he leaned down to retrieve his knife, but an alarm intruded him, causing him to forget all about them. As the door shut behind Spencer, Leon scrambled over to Marisol, who could only lie there with her eyes on the cement ceiling. Not knowing what to do, the brunet pulled his hair as he started down into her now gray eyes.

What did that mean if they were that color? Was this it? How to kill a Tyrant? One strike to her jugular vein couldn't bring the end for her could it? No, this couldn't be the end.

A few of his tears fell onto her paling face as he gently rested her head on his thighs. "Marisol?" She couldn't speak, she might have been unable to hear also if shock had taken over her brain. Shallow breaths were the only sounds she made, and even though the knife still rested in her neck, blood slowly seeped from the wound. She was dying, but very slowly.

"Marisol… I love you." At that, she began to cry and her lips moved to tell him the same thing. This was happening again. Another woman he loved was slipping away from him. Ada came back, but she was never really dead.

It hurt to watch the one that you cared about suffer and there is nothing that can be done to stop the pain. Why did she turn around? Why did that one moment of pride go to her head? Despite the fact that she didn't need to breath, it was involuntary, and it was a way of letting Leon know that she was still with him.

_Monette couldn't breathe either_.

"Marisol? Mari?!" His shouts were unheard as she stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped crying. She was gone.

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_**"**_Marisol!" Sherry screamed at the monitor over and over, but it would not cause anything to happen. Her father sat by her, tied up just as she was, forced to watch it all happen.

"This is the penalty for traitors like her, Birkin." One could not say that he was remorseless about her death, but one could assume that he would not mourn for long. "In a few seconds your old colleague and Ms. Birkin's foster family will come barging through the front doors. After I finish them off, you'll get to see your daughter become what you engineered her for." He turned to Sherry as though her sobs were interrupting him. "You cry over a traitor that was created from a traitor? She was weak! She was expendable. There are more women in the world worth way more than her anyway."

Still, Sherry cried. To see her death happen like was unbearable, and to see Leon looking so depressed only worsened her grief. Two hours later the alarms blared, alerting Spencer that someone was there. The people that he was waiting for, the ones in his way had come to say goodbye for the very last time.

A/N: Yeah… sad. God, I hate Spencer, event though he's not mentioned to much in the game, you know he's responsible for everything. If you're wondering how Chris found out that Leon and Marisol were missing, it was because he couldn't sleep that night and got no response and no one was home. Yeah. Well, revieeeeeeeeew!


	19. Dazed, Confused

A/N: Well, it's 10:47 PM. I won't post this until tomorrow. I'm going to mass tomorrow. I still haven't got closure, but I don't want to be the one to call him. I still can't let go of him dude. It's like; I can't wake up and be like, "He's gone." I've been through it before, but this situation is Maury Povitch material. So I'll talk to my priest, get a blessing and go on. Wow, almost 11 years since my last confession, but this isn't really a confession. Oh well, here we go!

Disclaimer: I don't own RE. I own this fic and Marisol.

For the first time in a long time, Chris saw his little sister, but the only thing marring the sight that was supposed to be so perfect was the figure standing beside her. Wesker stood there as though the alarms never started blaring, as though nothing in the world was wrong. Of course, he always did manage to remain calm in such situations of possible doom. An annoying yet helpful virtue. This moment was only ruined because Chris knew that someone would die today, and he prayed that it would be Spencer and Wesker.

Barry, Claire, and Jill were all staring at something, but there was no telling if Wesker was staring at it also. Deciding to follow the group's gaze, Chris turned around to see Leon, soaked in blood. He appeared to be in a state of shock, and Claire rushed over to her friend to see what was wrong. He had stolen the spotlight from the unlikely gang.

"What happened?" she asked shakily. As she examined him, she noticed that there was no wound. "Whose blood is this?" Not a sound left his lips, not even a whimper. "Where's Marisol?"

"She wasn't fast enough," he said, finally looking her in the eye. Everyone looked shocked; there was no way that she could be dead just when she was going to exact her revenge. "I can't belie-"

"Biohazard alert."

"Oh great," groaned Jill as the familiar voice announced that their lives were in danger. The voice spoke as though it was a natural occurrence. Well, it always seemed that way with Umbrella, there was nothing going on except mistakes.

"Unauthorized release of B.O.W.S. on all laboratory levels."

"Unauthorized?" asked a confused Barry. Someone was there that had no business being there. Then, the lights went off, and the same fear that attacked Claire on Rockfort and in Raccoon had taken hold of her now. The dim emergency lights came on, and they were enough. Now, they all feared what could pop out of the darkness and threaten their lives.

Chris was just about to get back into his brotherly role until he saw Claire go to Wesker, leaving Barry to deal with Leon. Jill had asked him something, but he only nodded, all of his concentration was on his baby sister. He said that he had given up on her, but if she was in plain sight then he would not allow her to make this mistake.

Wesker's voice interrupted their silence as he said, "After this, it's me and you Redfield." No one really feared his comment; it was just another useless threat that would never fall through. His attitude towards Claire's closeness was questionable and a bit of a worry. Slowly, Wesker took lead of them with Claire following him closely. Everyone had their guns at the ready, afraid of what terrors Spencer had created.

Of course, they had found out that Birkin created most of the things that Spencer requested. Everything there was probably some sort of creature looking as though it came from a warped reality. If only Billy wasn't afraid to leave Rebecca alone then they would have one more person who could sneak off and watch their backs. They would have to rely on Leon and maybe even Wesker. Claire turned around and gave Chris a caring glance, letting him know that she was sorry and that she loved him.

Knowing that the dramatics would have to wait until after they got rid of Spencer, the oldest Redfield felt anxious and expectant. The worst was probably waiting for him when it came to his sister. All he could do was wait, and survive to see the outcome.

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"Dad?"

"It's alright, Sherry." As soon as the lights came on, Spencer could be seen with a confused look on his handsome face. Obviously, this wasn't planned. Something was going on out there, and he had no employees there so who was doing this? Fearful, he rushed over to the monitor and tapped on the keyboard a few times, unable to get a picture for a while. After three minutes of furious typing, the screen reappeared and he looked confused.

Why, he even looked a bit horrified. Once he stepped back to release his captives, they looked at the screen and saw what he had: Marisol was still lying on the ground, the knife still in her neck. If Marisol was still there and Claire and the others had just gotten there, then who had released the B.O.W.S. and turned off the lights? For a second, Birkin thought he saw Sherry smirking, but it was gone just as soon as it appeared. She knew something he didn't know.

"Let's move," commanded Spencer, not needing a weapon to intimidate them. They walked in front of him, slowly at first, until he commanded them to walk faster. Something was creeping near them, and Sherry didn't seem the least bit afraid, however, the "Great and Almighty Spencer" did. "What the hell's going on here?" he asked them, thinking that they knew.

"Maybe it's Marisol's ghost," retorted Birkin, not fearing Spencer, at least not for the moment.

"Impossible," said Sherry mockingly, they were toying with Spencer. They knew who it was, they just had to. Abruptly, Spencer told them to stop in front of a door on the right side of the corridor. They complied and watched him quickly punch in a code in the keypad on the side of the door. The door slid open and he gestured for them to go inside, and he locked them in.

The room was completely safe; there were no ducts that the creatures could come through to get inside to them, and the others would be dead before they could figure out how to get in. Only Marisol and Leon knew the master code that accessed all the rooms, but there was no way that they would make it to the bottom level. There were way too many creatures lurking around for them to even take a few seconds to open the door. Something else rushed by him, and he had to admit to himself that he was afraid. A growl could be heard down the hall from where he just came, and tried to calmly walk to the elevator.

How did things go so wrong? Who had done this to his facility? It definitely wasn't Leon; he was too shaken to even remember his name, and Marisol was dead according to the monitor. A sound was heard coming from a above him; something was in the ventilation system. The elevator was five feet in front of him when something fell from it. It was one of those damned chimeras; those little bastards were such a nuisance.

After kicking it aside with his inhuman strength, he rushed into the elevator, and repeatedly pressed the B1 button until the doors closed. For a moment, he thought he would have the time to think, but a hissing sound caught his attention, and when he looked down, brown insects slowly made their way up his pant's legs. In a display of fear and desperation, he shook his legs wildly and brushed them off. When the elevator dinged, he rushed out of the opening doors, trying to get as far away from the pests as he could.

"WHO'S PLAYING GAMES?" he demanded, swirling around in the hallway. A defensive growl came from the corridor left of him, followed by a few more. Daring to find out what was now hunting him; he turned and spotted two Dobermans, snarling at him, baring their teeth. At first they approached him slowly, saliva dripping to ground as their mouths hung open hungrily. These things were controllable, just as all other B.O.W.S., but the only problem was that _he_ was not one of the people who could control them.

It was Marisol's job to control the Cerberuses, but she was dead. Now, they had no master, no one to tell them to stop. Knowing that they wouldn't listen to him, Spencer eyed the three dogs warily as he reached for his gun, but suddenly they gave a disappointed whine and backed away. Were they afraid of him, did they realize how strong he was? There was only one thing to do, and that was to find Wesker and the others, then he could finally complete his work.

Umbrella would be back.

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Wesker was sure that he heard an elevator ding, but the rest of the group doubted this. Of course they wouldn't hear it, they were just humans. At the feel of Claire's hand on his arm, he stopped and turned to look at the others.

"We should split up," Jill suggested. Reluctantly, the others agreed. Even in the face of fear, they always found the strength to do what needed to be done in order for them complete the obstacles. If Spencer had Sherry, then the world was at his mercy. "Chris, you and Claire finish checking out this floor, Barry and Leon; you can check B3, Wesker and I will take the next floor."

It hurt her to say it, but she wasn't pairing Chris or Claire with Wesker. If anyone was going to be with him, she would be the one. Wesker may have wanted her dead, but not as badly as he wanted Chris dead. If she would have even hinted at sending Claire with him, Chris would have been in the most unforgiving mood ever. The look in his eyes said that he wanted to protest, but he knew that it was best that way.

With Leon in such a sad state, they could not let him be around Wesker, and Barry would only start trouble, but Jill knew how to handle her former Captain. Fear for him was there, but it was not as great as it was once before. If Wesker had allowed them all to live this long, and had tolerated the childish antics of Claire, then there was no way he would kill Jill. Maybe he would after Spencer was disposed of, but right now he even admitted that he needed them. After a minute of awkward stares, they followed Jill's orders.

After parting with Barry and Leon on the elevator, Jill and Wesker decided to check out the second level, completely alert.

For a while, they said nothing to one another, until Jill's curiosity got the best of her. "So, you've grown attached to Claire huh?"

After turning a corner, Wesker answered in a tone that was far from amused. "That is no concern of yours."

"If it affects Chris, it is," she replied sharply, raising her gun at the sound of movement. Wesker said nothing else for a while, until he spotted something far off that Jill couldn't even focus on.

"Be quiet." His tone said that they were in danger, that was proven when something scaly came rushing towards them, but whatever it was only stood in their way for a split second as Wesker quickly pulled out his knife and sent it flying into the creatures mouth. With a cry of pain, the deformed creature fell to the ground, and Wesker retrieved his knife. Unable to help herself, she looked down at it, finding it familiar. "A Hunter, Beta. Very poisonous."

Jill recalled seeing this creature once before, and she thought that she would never have to lay eyes on it again. Apparently, she was wrong. Wesker's voice brought her back from her horrifying flashback. "I thought they stopped making these damned things." A screech was heard coming from a nearby room, but Wesker only followed it. Jill only followed because she feared nothing but him.

Anything else would be taken out by her former commander, also, anything "T," she could survive. She was cured of the virus once before, so it could never happen again. At least that's what they taught her in high school. The word "cure" meant that it would never be a worry again, although she could be mauled to death by one of those ugly monsters. The corridor took them to large double doors, and behind them there was a brightly lit room, but concrete surrounded them.

For some odd reason, chains hung from the ceiling and a puddle of blood was in the middle of the room, some of it smeared as though something had been in it. "Let's go," Wesker said, turning around, making sure that Jill followed. She could tell that there was something odd about that room, and he didn't want to be there.

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Chris and Claire were quiet as they scouted the floor they were assigned to. Nothing seemed to have made it that far. Every now and then they found a few dead B.O.W.S., but not what killed them. Something was definitely wrong. What were they supposed to say to each other at this moment?

Claire had to say something to her brother; after all, he was the only family she had… that she knew of. "Chris, I'm sorry for-"

"It's ok. As long as you're coming back with me," he said, turning to her and giving her a playful smirk. Giving a nod, she felt her heart warm, and debated on whether or not she should tell him that she was infected. She couldn't do it. How would he react to her confession that she had been giving herself to Wesker of her own free will? Her mouth opened as she prepared to continue their conversation, but someone stepped from around the corner. Claire's heart beat rapidly, and her eyes were undoubtedly bulging in a cartoon fashion.

"Marisol?" she asked, stepping forward.

"Hey y'all," the woman greeted. Protests could be heard from Chris as Claire neared her friend, and everything seemed to be in slow motion as the petite woman whipped out a gun and aimed at Chris. A bullet flew into his shoulder, and Claire dived at Marisol, and they heard a bullet ricochet through the hallway. It was only then that Claire realized how baggy Marisol's clothes were. It wasn't her.

Claire felt horrified as Spencer's mouth exited the person's lips. The last thing she heard was, "Marisol's dead!"

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Barry had been running around in circles for quite some time, and felt tired. "There's a secure room on this level," he said much to Barry's elation. He wasn't so much tired as he was confused. Nothing was getting done, except them getting lost. Leon sadly looked to the keypad by the door and punched in a few numbers: the master code. "Sick bastard made it Monette's birthday," he muttered.

As soon as the door opened, they were met with the faces of Birkin and Sherry, and Barry felt like luck was smiling at them. "Whoa, that was quick," said the older man, and Sherry gave a toothy smile. When the door was closed behind them, she looked afraid, as though she just had a bad memory.

"We saw what happened," she informed the brunet before embracing him. Tears immediately filled her eyes as the scene of Marisol's death played over in her head, slower each time.

"Someone else is here," said Birkin with a great change of subject.

"Yeah but who?" Barry had an eerie feeling, as though someone was watching them closely, and they had no idea.

"Whoever it is has Spencer paranoid and running scared." No matter how hilarious it sounded, Birkin could not smile right now. He did not want to die because of Spencer, not again.

Not wanting to imagine another mad doctor running around the labs, fulfilling their sadomasochistic needs, Leon cleared his throat and turned to the door, gun at the ready. "Let's get back to the surface." Nothing seemed right, and he did not want to stick around to figure exactly what it was.

A/N: Yeah man! Here we go! Two more chapters! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Sorry, I'm excited. My priest had good advise and things to say, but he said he had no idea what I should do. Not dating him again was something he was getting at. Well, who cares? REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!


	20. Exodus to Eden

A/N: Growing ever closer to the end of this fic. And yes, there is another part. I guess Part III will be the end. I mean, unless I can somehow incorporate everyone into the 5th RE game. Well, that's all the way in '09... Or so I've heard. Well, onto the story. Oh... I couldn't help but post it. I couldn't let the document sit there!

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, but I own this fic and my people… who are dead: Monette and Marisol…WAAAAHHH!

Escaping was going to be too easy. There was no way it could be happening. As Leon, Barry, Sherry, and Birkin boarded the elevator, a gut feeling told them that something had to go wrong. A deadly occurrence was about to take place one way or another. Eagerly, Barry pressed the Ground Floor button, but they didn't go up.

All of them could feel the elevator descending to a lower level, a level that there wasn't even a button for.

"Oh God," Barry groaned, wishing that they had taken the stairway. Of course, anyone would tell them differently. Narrow space and a long drop often meant that it was the perfect dining area for the monsters on the loose. Unable to even imagine handling more of Spencer's terrors, Sherry held her long, blonde hair back in distress. How could she possibly remain sane.

After all of these scenarios with Umbrella, how had none of them put a razor blade to their wrists yet? The thought of living a life knowing what goes bump in the night, knowing that the man in black is after you, was enough to make someone want to throw themselves off a cliff. As the elevator stopped, she released a breath that she didn't even know she was holding in. For the first time in her short life, her father was actually being her father, but now he was probably going to be snatched away from her once again. Dying was what it took the first time for him to realize what she should have meant to him, but now they didn't know if any of them would make it.

According to Spencer, Sherry would live, only to be experimented on and killed so that she would become the next Alexia. Pushing aside the fact that her father made her into what she was, still, it would be Spencer's doing to change her. Would she forget everyone if they failed in saving her, would she murder her friends? Suddenly, she remembered what happened to the woman that she believed was her mother for thirteen years. As the doors opened, they stepped out into what appeared to be a large storage room.

Were they safe from the B.O.W.S. here? On the other side of the room another elevator came down, its passengers included Jill and Wesker, both looking equally confused. Happy to see that Wesker was alright -as she knew he would be- Sherry ran in his direction, but stopped in the middle of the room. Echoed sobs had reached their ears, and everyone turned to see Chris behind a few crates, bleeding, and sobbing over the limp body of Claire. Wesker tensed at the sight, but did not move towards them.

Everyone rushed to the remaining Redfield sibling and tried to comfort him. Nothing could keep Sherry from falling to her knees, could keep her from sobbing just as Chris was. Jill leaned down beside him, and held his head to her chest as he held onto his sister as though he could somehow keep her soul from leaving her body. Leon could only stand there, his eyes dried up from crying over Marisol. He could not be any more broken that he was now.

Covering his mouth, Barry turned away, breathing deep. Seeing his friend in such a fragile state was something that he never thought he would have to handle. At least not this early in his life.

"Boo-hoo!" shouted an unsympathetic voice. Everyone turned, seeing Spencer standing behind them with a disgusted look on his face.

"You asshole!" Jill shouted, pulling out her gun, only making him chuckle. Intimidated by his laughter, she let her arms fall, knowing that nothing she did would bring Claire back into Chris' life. Surely, he wished he were dead now, and she tightly gripped his wrist in fear that he might try to attack Spencer with his bare hands.

"So, Wesker, why are we here?" asked the oldest man in the room. Even though he didn't look it, Wesker still saw him as the old, lonely man that spent years pining over his wife. It sickened him to even look at the sad excuse of a being standing there. Wesker had a reason for killing people, but Spencer just wanted to see lives wasted before him. It made him feel like he was God, like someone actually cared about him.

"Because of your wife, I believe," he continued his monologue by lecturing his former student. "All she had to do was finish you off, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. You know that she was actually planning on killing herself in that secluded, little cabin?" Nothing Spencer said hurt Wesker, because he knew everything there was to know about his wife. Never ashamed of her actions, Monette always came clean in the end about things, even her pact with the devil that stood before them. "She was just weak. She couldn't even end her miserable life. Of course, you motivated her to go through it, but you've always had such _wonderful_ timing!" he spat.

"Are you done?" Wesker's arms were folded as he stood there, unaffected by the harsh words coming out of Spencer's mouth. In his youth, he never shed a tear over any of Spencer's condescending rants, and he would not give him the satisfaction now. Disgracing the memory of his wife was an impossible feat, because right now, he could almost hear her laughing and saying, "So what? I don't like you either; ergo, you don't matter." If there was one thing that Wesker learned from that woman, it was that when someone claims not to care about you, that they are dead to you, and dead people can't hurt you.

"I killed Marisol, Wesker," the older man boasted, his smile fading as he resorted to such a low blow. "If I disposed of her so easily, who's to say that you'll last half as long as she did in a fight? I've already killed two women that I loved, why should a useless, idiot like you matter when you're nothing but the child of immigrant trash?" Still not losing his cool, Wesker smirked and recalled those days when words like those actually infuriated him, when Spencer could drive him mad.

At first, no one saw what Wesker found so funny as he let out one of his maniacal laughs. That laugh meant that this wasn't the end, it was the laugh that meant he was only getting started. Seeing that his verbal attack was doing no good, Spencer decided to attack Wesker, not even landing a single punch. Realizing that Wesker was stronger than him, Spencer threw an enraged glare at Birkin.

"I always did believe that Wesker was my best work," yelled the blond man, standing to his feet, and bringing his daughter up with him to witness the result of his talent and effort. Distracting Spencer was too easy, caught up in anger over what Birkin said, he looked away and earned himself a knee to his abdomen. Breathless, he fell to the ground, more embarrassed than anything. He tried to denounce human behavior as an evolutional flaw that only the weak received, and here he was feeling everything that only the weakest humans went through. He felt envy, lust, wrath, gluttony, greed, and pride.

Those were six out of seven of the deadliest sins that were committed by none other than man. And the worst human emotion that he displayed was self-pity. Every time there was a finger that could be pointed, he pointed. Whenever there was game to be played, he played for his own needs to be able to put others down using all of his tricks and methods of unfairness. And Wesker would be damned if he let such a hypocritical and self-loathing creature get the best of him in a mind game.

Because when it came to using their brains, who were the ones who made Spencer's name feared and revered amongst the corporate world? Albert Wesker, William Birkin, and the two men he claimed were his friends that he had murdered: Dr. Marcus and Edward Ashford. This man was such a coward that he even hid behind a poor creature like Marisol, and for her realization of the definition of the word "man," she was murdered. Stepping out from the shade of ignorance did not mean that she had to step through Death's door. Wesker believed in respect, and even though he despised Chris with a heated passion, he still held him high as one of the most respectable men in the world.

He may have talked down about his character because he ruined his life-plan, but he put his foot and life down for what he believed in. He did not waver under pressure of desperation to retain his time on earth, nor did he do and say differently from what he believed. These things are what made Wesker fight Spencer without doubt of his own strength, the things that made him want to fight to continue his own life. If anyone was going to erect a new Umbrella, it would be him. From the view of Chris and the others, it seemed like Wesker had become a whole different person.

They watched him block blows from Spencer and deliver kicks and punches that would send him flying. Only out of pride and the will to not appear weak in front of humans did Spencer rise after he was knocked down. It was only matter of time before he gave in, and with interest, everyone watched, all silently rooting for Wesker. Right now, the battle lines had been erased and Wesker was not evil. He was a savior right now, and Chris thought that for a second, he understood what Claire stayed around him for.

He had once stuck around for this too, his Captain. In a flash, Wesker's fist came up, connecting with Spencer's chin. Chris had been there before, and he knew that even though Spencer wasn't human, that it had to hurt like hell. Then Wesker braced himself for the jump, the very jump that Chris had barely missed once before himself. Just before the fighting blond could get his feet off of the ground, Spencer pulled out a gun, the very same gun that he had used to kill Claire.

It was a coward's move, and a coward's desperate attempt to prolong his miserable life. Spencer could not die with dignity, because he did not have any. His finger gripped the trigger tightly, ready to pull.

"The self destruct system has been activated; all personnel, evacuate immediately." Whoever had been pulling the strings earlier had perfect timing.

"Never thought I'd be happy to hear that damned thing!" shouted Jill.

"Ten minutes until detonation."

"That part's not so good," she added. Spencer and Wesker still stood there, like gods locked in an eternal battle.

"No guns," announced Spencer, standing up and setting the weapon down.

"Go," said Wesker, not looking back at the others. Chris wanted to protest, but he only nodded to the others and they tried to help him pick up Claire. They could not just leave her there like that. A noise coming from one of the elevator shafts stopped them, and they looked to their right to see the doors open and dust poured out. All were staring at the seemingly empty shaft and something moved under the rubble.

At first, it appeared as though it was something small and harmless, but one of Spencer's creatures exploded from underneath the destroyed elevator. "Let's go!" yelled Barry, prying Chris away from his sister's corpse Protests were made by him, but his friends only dragged him to the other elevator. Before the doors closed, Chris strained to hear Wesker say something.

"I'll take care of Claire," is what it looked like, and many small creatures crawled down the opposite elevator, seeming to be cackling at them. All they could do was wait until they got to the Ground level, and then run as far away into the mountains as they could. As soon as Spencer saw the B.O.W.S. he lost all interest in fighting Wesker. This gave Wesker the opportunity to retrieve Claire's body before the B.O.W.S. got a hold of her. In the corner of his eye, the younger man saw Spencer snap the neck of a Hunter.

"Don't you dare run away!" he yelled at the blond. Wesker had nowhere to go right now; there was no telling what was in the other elevator, and the others were using the only one he knew to be operational. Deciding to take a chance, he ran for the elevator at the far end, and for the first time ever seemed impatient as he waited for it to reach the level. Spencer gave a grunt as something scratched him across the arm. After about two minutes, the elevator was there and Wesker rushed into it, hearing Spencer fire off many shots from his gun.

Carefully, he adjusted Claire in his arms, holding her bridal style. How fitting, he thought as he silently told her to wake up. Spencer had done the hard work for him; he had killed Claire, and that was all that he needed. Chris would leave them alone now, because he would not even know that she still existed. He felt her shift a bit in his arms, at that was the signal that said he had succeeded.

Claire was back.

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Hearts beating rapidly, their legs tired before they even started running, the group tried to stick together. Sherry held her father's hand as they raced through the forest, aware that the ground gradually sloped up into a hill. Jill pulled Chris with her, using all of her strength to help him along. Seeing his sister die was taking its toll on him, but she refused to let him give up on himself. Leon and Barry seemed to be tiring more easily, but that did not stop them from giving it their all.

In their heads they all asked the same thing, "Is Wesker okay?" Birkin had not even been able to have a conversation with his old colleague, nor had he had the chance to thank him for watching his daughter and keeping her safe for as long as he managed to. Death had changed him as a person, and now he understood what they were really doing at Umbrella. All he wanted were answers and recognition. His ambitions differed from those of the other scientists there.

Until they could look down and see the facility, they would continue running.

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Cut and injured, Spencer ran from the elevator, hoping that three and a half minutes would get him somewhere. He had the speed for it. "WHO IS DOING THIS?!" he yelled into the empty parking lot.

"Me." Trying to find where the voice came from, he looked to the left, seeing a face he thought long gone from this world and along with it, a pack of rotting dogs, ready for any kill that they could get.

"Oh fu-" Before the words could leave his mouth, fangs clamped it shut, and snarling and barking drowned out his cries of pain. There were too many of them to fight off. Flashes of scaly armor appeared, and he knew that Hunters had joined in on the attack. All he could do was throw blows, but that did not stop the dogs from sinking their fangs into him. Nothing, however, could drown out the computer's final countdown.

"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1"

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From above, the sight did not look anywhere near spectacular. Explosions were so common to them that it was like the Fourth of July. Some parts of the facility only collapsed while others expelled fire and debris. They all looked down in silence, grateful that they had once again escaped such a fate, but sad that lives had been lost. Claire, Marisol, and Wesker. Remembering the days of being police, Jill, Barry, Chris, and Leon gave a salute in honor of those who fought to the end.

"Claire," breathed Chris.

"I don't believe Wesker didn't make it," said Birkin thoughtfully. From memory and the stories told to him, it sounded like Wesker was very stubborn when it came to death. Well, he first found this out when he came to him demanding that he bottle immortality. "No. He's around." Chris didn't even hear the apologies from those around him as he though of his sister.

"I just can't believe that Marisol's actually dead," said Leon who had stopped crying, but he frowned when the Birkins gave him a smirk.

"Now, if Marisol was dead, then who the hell triggered the self destruct system and saved y'alls' asses?" That voice was familiar, but no one believed their ears at first. Behind them, there stood a small woman who looked a lot like Marisol. Wait! It was Marisol!

Blood was caked on her neck, and a fading scar was visible in the center of it all. In disbelief, Leon walked towards her, his lips ready to release the name, "Spencer," but she stopped him with her lips. The others witnessing the kiss smiled at them. When he finally pulled away, Leon had so many questions. "So the elevator dropping-?"

"We knew if we told you that there was no way we would live," said Sherry, an apologetic smile on her face. "Spencer didn't realize that the monitors were frozen when they came back on."

"I released the B.O.W.S, I started the self-destruct system, and I even fed Spencer to my little _perritos _for dinner." Pain was on Chris' face, but he managed a smile. "Claire, I don't think she would have wanted to live after all of this Chris. Now she can rest without looking over her shoulder all the time." Knowing exactly what she meant, Chris gave a nod and tried to keep smiling. She was right, his sister did not deserve to continue paying for caring for him.

"Chris?" Jill looked up to him, looking relieved for the first time in months, "Let's the hell outta here. Rebecca needs baby names."

Giving her a smile in return, he replied with, "And we all know what I need." They walked to Barry, signaling that it was time to go home.

"Dad, can Canada wait?" Sherry faked a yawn, but her father let out a real one.

"Okay, Chateau de Redfield is open for business," said Chris, knowing where they wanted to stay. Instead of leaving, they stared at the reunited couple before them, at once thought to be over just as soon as they started.

"So," started Leon, looking quite confused, "what are you up for?" Never had relationships gone his way in the past.

"Well, according to American pop culture," started Marisol, a devilish grin on her face, "now we go to your place and… you know." Grinning from ear to ear they all watched as Leon blushed like a schoolboy in the girls' locker room. "I think we should buy a house. Ooh, let's get a dog since mine were blown to bits," she said as they walked off, and everyone gave each other stares of interest. This would be interesting. Just as they began walking off, Sherry stared into the trees behind her and waved, causing her father to give a nod in that direction.

Sherry and Birkin knew that everything would work out fine as they said goodbye to Claire and Wesker. Without words, they promised to never tell. Up ahead, Marisol whispered to Leon, "You know Claire's not dead right?"

"Duh," he answered, "who do we know that ever stays dead?" The sun had risen high in the sky by now, and even though it happened moments ago, Spencer seemed like nothing but a bad memory, and the line between things that appeared to be complete opposites had been completely erased. There was no good, no bad, they were all just simply… human.

A/N: That was long for me! God, it's 1 AM. Review and stay tuned for the epilogue!


	21. Epilogue

A/N: Here's the epilogue… well, it's kind of a… whatever.

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, I own Marisol and this fic.

_The Two Liliths_

_-Two Months Later-_

For the first time since the incident at the facility, she felt nervous, and did not know what to expect. Sure, they had talked over the phone, but what would transpire today? "Over here!" she heard a woman yell, and a smile crept across her face. The small coffee shop was not too crowded, so there were no worries. "Hey, Claire," said Marisol, giving her hug before letting her sit in the seat across from her.

No one occupied the booths behind them, much to their gratitude, and they could speak of whatever needed to be spoken of. After a waitress took Claire's order, she removed her shades, revealing blue eyes, just as they had been before. "Panama?" asked a curious Marisol as she stared at the natural eye color.

"Yeah, I couldn't do the cat-eye look. I see you left yours alone." Observation of her company proved that she was right; Marisol's eyes were gray. It had felt longer than two months, and she hadn't seen anyone in so long. As Marisol lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, Claire noticed a wedding band, and she smirked. "Congratulations."

"You too," she replied, not even having to check Claire's finger. The redhead nodded, and secured a piece of hair behind her ear.

Not knowing where to begin, Claire just thought of the people she had not seen in the longest. "How are Rebecca and Billy?"

"They're still at Chris'. I've been trying to build Billy a new life, and Rebecca's three months along. I'm the same as you."

"You're-?" Claire's voice was filled with happiness for her friend. "So, everyone's married and knocked up. How's Jill?"

There was hesitance in Marisol's voice, and Claire wished that she hadn't asked. "Jill, she left, 'bout two weeks ago. She had a miscarriage," she stopped to chew the inside of her cheek, her body language showed how sorry she felt for her. "She went to Europe to have it fixed or something. Chris has been… devastated and I'm scared he's not gonna make it this time.

The waitress brought back Claire's coffee and she thanked her, trying to smile. She had lost a niece or nephew when they weren't even a month in the making. "Chris thinks I'm dead?'

"Yeah, and everyone else knows." It was killing both of them to keep lying like this, but Claire had a family of her own to think of. Marisol knew that it was cruel of her to allow Chris to go on thinking that his sister was no longer there. "Got a name yet?' she asked, changing the subject and running her hands through her thick and silky, black hair.

"Sarah, if it's a girl," she said, not looking up from the café au lait before her that was the same color as Marisol's skin. "Sarah Monette." Marisol smiled at the choice of name for the child, and nodded for her to continue with the boy name. "Solen if it's a boy."

"I know that it's gonna be a girl for me. Esmeralda Leona. It was Monette's middle name." It was amazing how much that woman had shaped their future for them. If it weren't for her, Leon would be alone, and Wesker would be too. He never mentioned Chris, and that was fine with Claire. Who wanted to talk about their brother's execution?

Afraid to ask anymore about her brother, Claire decided to bring up someone who had disappeared. "What happened to Ada?" Marisol let out a scoff and ordered more coffee.

"She showed up at Leon's apartment that night. 'Seemed embarrassed when I opened the door. Then I realized that she was scared. Her Organization scavenged the facility remains. Under the collapsed parking lot, they didn't find Spencer." Claire's eyes opened wide at this new information, but Marisol only continued. "Leon started working for the Government three weeks ago, and since they fear what we are, they're giving us protection. So Spencer has nothing since I named names and turned in all of his employees." Inside, Marisol felt like a snitch, but she never owed those people anything, especially the men that she had affairs with. Still, she betrayed Spencer's trust in her, but that was the past.

Everything he did to her was nothing that was done in her best interest. Her life was becoming very difficult. She feared waking up at a Government facility and being poked and prodded at. A warning to them was that if they tried to extract any of her DNA, that nothing but bad would come out of it. Gray eyes now searched Claire's blue ones, trying to understand her pain.

Marisol never had a family, but Claire had to pick up and leave her brother behind. Perhaps, being a clone wasn't as bad as she thought, it may have helped her in the future. Well, all she had was time. She had only been alive for half a year and she was already pregnant with children that biologically would be less than a year younger than her. For a while, she thought that she could not even become pregnant, but she prayed for it and wanted it desperately.

Finding that Claire's spirit was not lifted at all by the good news in her report, the clone reached over the table and gently placed her hand on her friend's. "It's gonna be alright, Claire. _Que ra sera. _What's gonna happen, we can't stop it." Nodding, Claire tried to hold back tears of fear, but fear of what?

Voice shaking, she said what was on her mind, the reason she was so afraid. "I just can't imagine Wesker going through this again. I try to stay out of his business because I'm scared of what I'll see."

"Out sight, out of mind," muttered Marisol, sounding very grown-up. Good things did come out of this for her: She had plenty of money from working for Spencer, even though Leon wanted nothing to do with it, and now she had found a reason to live. "He's a recovering alcoholic," she said suddenly, making Claire forget about her problems. This revelation about her husband was always a suspicion of Claire's. "He was pretty bad with it when he found out about Spencer still being out there. He quit smoking, he won't even allow _me_ to drink- well, before I was pregnant, of course I'm not drinking now. And now he's scaring me with all of his precautions and…"

As her friend trailed off, Claire watched a tear slide down her cheek, and she thought of how difficult their lives probably were. They were bargaining with the Government, Leon was having a breakdown, and Marisol had to adjust to human life. Sometimes, Claire forgot that she was no longer human, and even forgot about living with Wesker. She mostly stayed to herself, and even slept in her own room most nights.

"Something's coming, Claire," Marisol said out of nowhere, staring into her coffee. "I have these dreams about Spencer…" This meeting was frightening and did not lay Claire's fears to rest. When facing Wesker tonight, she would not be able to bring his good news at all, just the news that they needed to go on the alert.

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For weeks now, Chris had felt more alone than he ever imagined a human being could be. His sister was -dare he say it?- dead, Jill was slowly killing herself with guilt, and Billy and Rebecca were even moving out soon. Eventually, he would be all alone in this house that had once been a home for many. When Sherry and Birkin left for Canada, he knew that everyone else would follow suit. Barry had decided to go back to Switzerland with his family, missing them and unable to deny that his concern for their well-being was dissipating.

Dozens of times, he thought about selling the home that once belonged to his dead parents, but after being passed around foster home at a young age, he didn't really feel like moving anymore. Maybe after Marisol and Rebecca had their kids, he could baby-sit. Or maybe he could avenge his sister by getting back into the Anti-Umbrella Organization that he helped found. What more could he do? Sitting here and watching everyone else move on and create new lives for themselves was only sending him to an early grave, and Claire would not want that for him.

A soft tap shook him from his thoughts and he unconsciously yelled, "Come on in!" It was Billy, and he looked like he had come to give another rather sympathetic speech of encouragement.

Looking around the room as if he had never seen it before, Billy gave a forced smile. "So, any word from Jill?" God, how it even hurt his heart to hear the name. "Is this a bad time?" he asked, sensing his friend's discomfort.

"No," answered the depressed man. "I'd say the worse time ever was that day that Claire didn't come out of that facility with us."

"I should have been there," Billy started, but Chris shook his head, knowing that he had been doing what he himself was doing. Looking out for your own was the wisest decision when it came to Umbrella. "Do you really think Wesker's dead?"

Giving a sigh, Chris nodded. "He would have come to face me like we agreed if he didn't. Now would be the perfect time to strike." Wesker's hatred for him would never die, and that is why Chris believed him to be dead. Spencer had come out of that basement, so that could only mean that one of the others did not. Also, Marisol gave her word that she never saw Wesker leaving on the cameras, or while she was escaping.

She would not lie about something as important as this. Because if Wesker lived, then he and Claire, and even Marisol would not wish her fate upon his sister. So the only explanation was that Wesker was dead. There had been no suspicious men following him, no phone calls that consisted of breathing on the other line, and no intimidating emails. Also, none of his contacts had been hearing anything about his former boss.

Wesker was dead, and so was Claire. Remembering that Billy was there, he shook away the memories of his sibling and the tears that came with them. For the first time in months, he was actually trying to maintain his cool and not show the weakness that had been present. For a while, Chris would never be the same, until he finally took up his role of being the destroyer of Umbrella. Billy and Rebecca had their own plans for life, a new that Marisol and the Government started for them in Florida.

At first, Chris never believed that one could start anew without worrying about the past. Once again, he made the lines of right and wrong apparent and vowed that no more harm would come to those that he cared for.

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Lying next to Leon, Marisol could not help but feel worried. Every night, he held her in his arms, as if he was afraid that someone would swoop and take her away again. Of course, he would not put it past his new employees to try and do something so underhanded. She felt his hand on her stomach, as though he was trying to make sure the baby was still there. Claire's face looked so scared earlier that day, like someone had been following her.

Now that she was no longer bound by the physical limits of a human, she should have nothing to worry about. The two of them were unstoppable together. At that though, Marisol remembered the people that she been ordered to "silence." Dozens of people had been slain by her hand at the command of the man that she had believed for so long to be someone who really cared about her. Finally, she looked into Leon's eyes, seeing the fear that had been there ever since she could remember.

Removing his hand from her stomach, he tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear gently, so he would not hit the back of the earring that had been there for months. "How's Claire?" he finally asked, trying to take his mind off of his employers.

"Scared." she answered, tightening her grip on his forearm. He had become so much more toned ever since he started his training. It was almost scary how much they were changing him both physically, and mentally. "Have you heard from Ada?"

"She's on the run, I think. She pissed someone off." That sounded like Ada. Really, she didn't care what happened to the older woman, she just wanted her away from her husband. Ada Wong, the woman of mystery. What a title. No doubt that Claire would be seeing much of her over time.

How did Claire's marriage to Wesker actually work? That was no one's business but their own of course. Still, Marisol could not help but worry about Claire; there were so many people that were out to hurt both of them. The feel of Leon's lips on her neck brought her back to reality and she thought of the child growing within her. Soon, she would be able to say that she had a family, and that she was able to escape Umbrella… at least for now.

Leon's involvement with the Government was a frightening thing and it appeared that it would never be something that she would ever be ok with. Dangerous times would lay ahead for Leon, and she did not wish for his death. If he died then he would be forced to live her life, Wesker's life, and even the life that their child would have to live. Immortality only sounded appealing, but it was not at all what the theaters made it out to be. Who would have imagined that Marisol would be giving birth to the child of a "good guy"?

Who thought that she would turn into a "good guy" herself? It seemed that she had finally chosen a side, and she would be dark when it the situation called for it, but at moments like this she would simply be called, "Mother."

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His arms were holding her close to him, and this was the reason that she cared for him the way that she did. Claire's back was turned to Wesker, but she knew that he was awake, watching out for her as he always did. Moments like these made Claire feel like she was actually living a normal life, but then she would awake to find that it was only an illusion brought on by the night. Claire wished that her life was as simple as Marisol's, and Marisol wanted the excitement that Claire had rather than the fear that the Government caused her. Mom.

Never in her dreams had Claire pictured being called that. The only person that she thought would ever call her "mom" would be Sherry, but she had a little family of her own with her father. Amazing how things worked out. Questioning her reasons for staying with Wesker was what took up her time, but she had finally decided that maybe she was starting to fall in love with him. The only time they ever even mentioned love was in there vows.

A shotgun marriage was not Claire's wish, getting married at all was not part of her life plan, but it happened. She did not believe that she was crazy or desperate, but that she understood the true meaning of caring for someone. Wesker had gone through hell to keep her safe, and even though it was partly because she was carrying his child, it did not change the fact that he still cared. She understood him, and he had trusted her enough to tell her his past. Obviously, there was a spot for her in his heart.

Sometimes, she wondered if he still thought of Monette, if he dreamed of her. Of course he did, he loved her. Still the question of whether or not he loved her was in the air. She would not assume, would not beg him to answer, and she would not waste away wondering if she was in a loveless marriage. Feeling him her rub her stomach, she smiled, and remembered the life they had created.

Chris would never know his niece or nephew, never be able to buy them gifts. He would probably not even get to have children of his own. What Chris wanted could not stop her from living her life the way she chose. She and Marisol had worked equally hard to break free of the way society viewed them. Claire was not allowed to cross over the line, and neither was Marisol.

They were to be obedient, and according to the laws of "Good and Evil," they were not to be friends. However, they said, "To hell with all of the stereotypes and ways that others said were unacceptable." They had turned their backs on the principles that they were raised with, the laws that they were brainwashed with. When it came to love, it was an unconditional feeling that would have you turn your back on someone for the sake of you and your significant other. Knowing that what they were doing was wrong though brought them to a new era that freed them of ignorance.

They were wrong, they were not the confused little girls that were introduced as one sided. Now, no one was safe as they viewed the drastic change in their personalities. They were enemies now, hunted by their former sides, and judged by both as well. All in the name of their beliefs, they changed the book and left behind the law, left behind the only ones that knew them. Well, Claire let her brother believe that she was dead, Marisol had attempted to kill the man that she had called both "master" and "lover." Death would still follow them wherever they chose to turn to though, and they themselves would not meet Him.

"Relax." Wesker knew what she was feeling, what she was thinking about. He did not speak with her of her worries mainly because they viewed right and wrong differently. "At least you have admitted it to yourself and everyone else Claire."

"I know, but that only makes it worse."

"Lying makes it worse, dear heart. You are merely acting upon your _needs_, and that is in no way selfish. It is how this world works."

"Always giving such good advice," she said, finally smiling a bit.

"Now go to sleep. If you don't then I won't be able to either, and I have much work to finish tomorrow." After yawning in approval, she said goodnight, and heard him whisper something into her ear. It was barely audible, but she knew that it was, "Claire, I love you." Now that there is no question of what right and wrong is, paradise is over, and Eden no longer exists.

A/N: Part II is done. Oh yeah, the title. If you are educated in the Jewish Bible, Lilith is Adam's first wife. I believe that story, but if you don't, whatever, just consider it entertainment and thank it because if I had never learned about Lilith, there would be no, "The Garden of Eden." I call Claire and Marisol the two Liliths because they break away from the traditions that they were brought up with. Claire intentionally disobeys and so does Marisol. They pretty much do what Lilith does. Lilith refused to lie down beneath Adam, and be considered weaker and less of a human. So Lilith does the forbidden: she says God's name. When she did that she gained awesome power, grew wings, and flew away. Even when God sent angels, demanding that she go back, she refused, because she wanted equality and what was right. So she lived out her days as a demon, 100 of her children, which were spawned with animals, demons, the devil, and even Adam to death every day. And since she was made from dirt just as he was, she believed that they were equal, which is why he made Eve from Adam's rib; so she could not leave him The Eves of the story are Jill and Rebecca, because they are just the little housewives who give everything and anything to their men. There's no rebel in them and they never even consider changing sides. Rebecca helping Billy is not wrong in any way because he's innocent. I have to call Chris Adam, because he is demanding, believing that if you aren't on his side, you are wrong. He thinks that he is right and that Wesker is wrong, but you can't even call Wesker the devil of the story because he doesn't try to justify everything with revenge. The only thing he did for revenge was sleeping with Claire, and now we see that that reason has changed also. I salute Claire and Marisol because they are the ultimate rebels. They stood up to the men that they saw as God, just like Lilith even completely disobeyed God for what was right. I don't applaud her turning her back on God, but she did what she had to do for herself. And she always loved Adam, just like Claire always loved Chris, and whatever Marisol had Spencer, it was still somewhat there. Some things I say about Lilith may be wrong, but there are so many different stories about her that the truth is hard to decipher. No one get offended, but I needed someone to compare Claire to. She turned her back on good, because she loved someone who was "bad." Well, sorry for all that, but I had to explain. So review and I'll get to that sequence.


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